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SAINT ABE AND HIS 
SEVEN WIVES 



& ®ak of Salt Hato ©ttg 






J 






GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 

NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET 

1872 



TTTy 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, 

Br GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 






L^ 



LANGE & HILLMAN, 

PRINTERS AND 8TEREOTYPERS, 

1 08, 110, 1 12 4 114 Wooster St^ 

NEW YOR£- 



CONTENTS. 



DEDICATION: TO OLD DAN CHAUCER VU 

APPROACHING UTAH. — THE BOSS'S TALE: 

PASSING THE RANCHE ..••••• 3 

JOE WILSON GOES A-COURTINQ • • • • • 7 

SAINT AND DISCIPLE 12 

THE BOOK OF MORMON • 1 8 

JOE ENDS HIS STORY. — FIRST GLIMPSE OF UTAH . 3 1 

TEE CITY OF THE SAINTS : 

AMONG THE PASTURES.— SUMMER EVENING DIALOGUE 4I 

WITHIN THE CITY.— SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN . 68 

PROMENADE— MAIN STREET, UTAH 8 1 

WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE.— SERMONIZETH THE PROPHET 98 

THE FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT . . . . 108 

LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE TO THE POLYGAMISTS . Il8 

THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. — SUNSET (1871), * • • IS! 



TO OLD DAN CHAUCER. 



Maypole dance and Whitsun ale, 
Sports of peasants in the dale, 
Harvest mirth and janketling, 
Fireside play and kiss-in-ring, 
Ancient fan and wit and ease, — 
Gone are 07ie and all of these ; 
All the pleasant pastime planned 
In the green old Mother-land: 
Gone are these and gone the time 
Of the breezy English rhyme, 
Sung to make men glad and wise 
By great Bards with twinkling eyes 
Gone the tale and gone the song 
Sound as nnUbrown ale and strong. 
Freshening the sultry sense 
Out of idle impotence, 



v "i DEDICATION. 

Sowing features dull or bright 
With deep dimples of delight I 

Thro' the Mother-land I went, 
Seeking these, half indolent : 
Up and down, I saw them not ; 
Only found them, half forgot, 
Buried in long-darken 'd nooks 
With thy barrels of old books, 
Where the light and love and mirth 
Of the morning days of earth 
Sleeps, like light of sunken suns 
Brooding deep in cob-webb'd tuns / 
Eveiywhere I found instead, 
Hanging her dejected head, 
Barbing shafts of bitter wit, 
The pale Modem Spirit sit — 
While her shadow, great as Gog's, 
Cast upon the island fogs, 
In the midst of all things dim 
Loom'd, gigantically grim. 



DEDICATION. ix 

Honest Chaucer, thee I greet 
In a verse with blithesome feet, 
And thd* modern bards may stare, 
Crack a passing joke with Care! 
Take a merry song and true 
Fraught with inner meanings too / 
Goodman Dull may croak and scowl .•— 
Leave him hooting to the owl ! 
Tight-laced Prudery may turn 
Angry back with eyes that burn, 
Reading on from page to page 
Scrofulous novels of the age ! 
Fools may frown and humbugs rail t 
Not for them I tell the I ale; 
Not for them, but such as thee 9 
Wise old English Jollity i 



Newport, October, 1871. 



APPROACHING UTAH.— THE BOSS'S TALE. 



PASSING THE RANCHE. 

" Grrr ! " shrieked the boss, with teeth clench'd 

tight, 
Just as the lone ranche hove in sight, 
And with a face of ghastly hue 
He flogg'd the horses till they flew, 
As if the devil were at their back, 
Along the wild and stony track. 
From side to side the waggon swung, 
While to the quaking seat I clung. 
Dogs bark'd ; on each side of the pass 
The cattle grazing on the grass 
Raised heads and stared ; and with a cry 
Out the men rush'd as we roll'd by. 



4 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

u Grrr ! " shriek' d the boss ; and o'er and o'er 

He flogg'd the foaming steeds and swore ; 

Harder and harder grew his face 

As by the ranche we swept apace, 

And faced the hill, and past the pond, 

And gallop'd up the height beyond, 

Nor tightened rein till field and farm 

Were hidden by the mountain's arm 

A mile behind ; when, hot and spent, 

The horses paused on the ascent, 

And mopping from his brow the sweat, 

The boy glanced round with teeth still set, 

And panting, with his eyes on me, 

Smil'd with a look of savage glee. 



Joe Wilson is the boss's name, 
A Western boy well known to fame. 
He goes about the dangerous land 
His life for ever in his hand : 



PASSING THE RAN CHE. 

Has lost three fingers in a fray, 

Has scalp'd his Indian too they say; 

Between the white man and the red 

Four times he hath been left for dead ; 

Can drink, and swear, and laugh, and brawl, 

And keeps his big heart thro' it all 

Tender for babes and women. 

He 
Turned, smiled, and nodded savagely ; 
Then, with a dark look in his eyes 
In answer to my dumb surprise, 
Pointed with jerk of the whip's heft 
Back to the place that we had left, 
And cried aloud, 

" I guess you think 
I'm mad, or vicious, or in drink. 
But theer you're wrong. I never pass 
The xanche down theer and bit of grass, 
I never pass 'em, night nor day, 
But the fit takes me jest that way ! 



6 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

The hosses know as well as me 
What's coming, miles afore we see 
The dern'd old corner of a place, 
And they git ready for the race ! 
Lord ! if I didn't lash and sweer, 
And ease my rage out passing theer, 
Guess I should go clean mad, that's all. 
And thet's the reason why I call 
This turn of road where I am took 
Jest Old Nick's Gallop!" 

Then his look 
Grew more subdued yet darker still ; 
And as the horses up the hill 
With loosen'd rein toil'd slowly, he 
Went on in half soliloquy, 
Indifferent almost if I heard, 
And grimly grinding out each word. 



n. 

JOE WILSON GOES A-COURTING. 

" There was a time, and no mistake, 

When thet same ranche down in the brake 

Was pleasanter a heap to me 

Than any sight on land or sea. 

The hosses knew it like their master, 

Smelt it miles orf, and spank' d the faster! 

Ay, bent to reach thet very spot, 

Flew till they halted steaming hot 

Sharp opposite the door, among 

The chicks and children old and young ; 

And down I'd jump, and all the go 

Was 'Fortune, boss !' and * Welcome, Joe !' 

And Cissy with her shining face, 

Tho* she was missus of the place, 



8 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

Stood larfing, hands upon her hips ; 

A.nd when upon her rosy lips 

I put my mouth and gave her one, 

She'd cuff me, and enjy the fun ! 

She was a widow young and tight, 

Her chap had died in a free fight, 

And here she lived, and round her had 

Two chicks, three brothers, and her dad, 

All making money fast as hay, 

And doing better every day. 

Waal ! guess tho' I was peart and swift, 

Spooning was never much my gift ; 

But Cissy was a gal so sweet, 

So fresh, so spicy, and so neat, 

It put your wits all out o' place, 

Only to star" into her face. 

Skin whiter than a new-laid egg f 

Lips full of juice, and sech a leg ! 

A smell about her, morn and e'en, 

Like fresh-bleach' d linen on a green ; 



JOE WILSON GOES A-COURTING. 

And from her hand when she took mine, 
The warmth ran up like sherry wine ; 
And if in liquor I made free 
To pull her larfing on my knee, 
Why, there she'd sit, and feel so nice, 
Her heer all scent, her breath all spice ! 
See ! women hate, both young and old, 
A chap that's over shy and cold, 
And fire of all sorts kitches quick, 
And Cissy seem'd to feel full slick 
The same fond feelings, and at last 
Grew kinder every time I passed ; 
And all her face, from eyes to chin > 
Said ' Bravo, Joe ! You're safe to win !' 
And tho' we didn't fix, d'ye see, 
In downright words that it should be, 
Ciss and her fam'ly understood 
That she and me would jine for good. 
Guess I was like a thirsty boss 
Dead beat for days, who comes across 



io THE BOSS'S TALE. 

A fresh clear beck, and on the brink 

Scoops out his shaky hand to drink ; 

Or like a gal or boy of three, 

With eyes upon a pippin-tree ; 

Or like some Injin cuss who sees 

A bottle of rum among the trees, 

And by the bit of smouldering log, 

Where squatters camp'd and took their grog 

The night afore. Waal ! " (here he ground 

His teeth again with savage sound) 

" Waal, stranger, fancy, jest for fun, 

The feelings of the thirsty one, 

If, jest as he scoop'd out his hand, 

The water turn'd to dust and sand ! 

Or fancy how the lad would scream 

To see thet fruit-tree jest a dream ! 

Or guess how thet poor Injin cuss, 

Would dance and swear, and screech and fuss, 

If when he'd drawn the cork and tried 

To get a gulp of rum inside, 



JOE WILSON GOES A-COURTING. n 

'Twarn't anything in thet theer style, 
But physic stuff or stinking ile ! 
Ah ! you've a notion now, I guess, 
Of how all ended in a mess, 
And how when I was putting in 
My biggest card and thought to win, 
The Old One taught her how to cheat, 
And yer I found myself, clean beat ! " 



m. 

SAINT AND DISCIPLE. 

Joe Wilson paused, and gazed straight down, 

With gritting teeth and bitter frown, 

And not till I entreated him 

Did he continue, — fierce and grim, 

With knitted brow and teeth clench'd tight. 

" Along this way one summer night, 
Jest as I meant to take the prize, 
Passed an Apostle — dern his eyes ! 
On his old pony, gravel-eyed, 
His legs a-dangling down each side, 
With twinkling eyes and wheedling smile, 
Grinning beneath his broad-brimm'd tile, 



SAINT AND DISCIPLE. 13 

With heer all scent and shaven face, 

He came a-trotting to the place. 

My luck was bad, I wasn't near, 

But busy many a mile from yer ; 

And what I tell was told to me 

By them as were at hand to see. 

'Twarn't every day, I reckon, they 

Saw an Apostle pass their way ! 

And Cissy, being kind o' soft, 

And empty in the upper loft, 

Was full of downright joy and pride 

To hev thet saint at her fireside — 

One of the seventy they call 

The holiest holy — dern 'em all ! 

O he was 'cute and no mistake, 

Deep as Salt Lake, and wide awake ! 

Theer at the ranche three days he stayed, 

And well he knew his lying trade. 

'Twarn't long afore he heard full free 

About her larks and thet with me, 



14 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

And how 'twas quite the fam'ly plan 

To hev me for her second man. 

At fust thet old Apostle said 

Little, but only shook his head ; 

But you may bet he'd no intent 

To let things go as things had went. 

Three nights he stayed, and every night 

He squeezed her hand a bit more tight ; 

And every night he didn't miss 

To give a loving kiss to Ciss ; 

And tho' his fust was on her brow, 

He ended with her mouth, somehow. 

O, but he was a knowing one, 

The Apostle Hiram Higginson ! 

Grey as a badger's was his heer, 

His age was over sixty year 

(Her grandfather was little older), 

So short, his head just touch'd her shoulder; 

His face all grease, his voice all puff, 

His eyes two currants stuck in duff ; — 



HOLY WOOING. 15 

Call thet a man ! — then look at me ! 

Thretty year old and six foot three, 

Afear'd o' nothing morn nor night, 

m 

The man don't walk I wouldn't fight ! 

Women is women ! Thet's their style — 

Talk reason to them and they'll bile ; 

But baste 'em soft as any pigeon, 

With lies and rubbish and religion ; 

Don't talk of flesh and blood and feeling, 

But Holy Ghost and blessed healing; 

Don't name things in too plain a way, 

Look a heap warmer than you say, 

Make 'em believe they're serving true 

The Holy Spirit and not you, 

Prove all the world but you's damnation, 

And call your kisses jest salvation ; 

Do this, and press 'em on the sly, 

You're safe to win 'em. Jest you try ! 

" Fust thing I heerd of all this game, 
One night when to the ranche I came, 



16 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

Jump'd down, ran in, saw Cissy theer, 
And thought her kind o' cool and queer ; 
For when I caught her with a kiss, 
'Twarn't that she took the thing amiss, 
But kept stone cool and gev a sigh, 
And wiped her mouth upon the sly 
On her white milkin'-apron. ' Waal/ 
Says I, ' you're out o' sorts, my gel ! ' 
And with a squeamish smile for me, 
Like folks hev when they're sick at sea, 
Says she, ' O, Joseph, ere too late, 
I am awaken' d to my state — 
How pleasant and how sweet it is 
To be in sech a state of bliss !' 
I stared and gaped, and turned to Jim 
Her brother, and cried out to him, 
' Hullo, mate, what's the matter here t 
What's come to Cissy? Is she queer r 9 
Jim gev a grin and answered ' Yes, 
A trifle out o' sorts, I guess/ 



'7 



CISSV INCLINES TO PIETY. 

But Cissy here spoke up and said, 

' It ain't my stomach, nor my head, 

It ain't my flesh, it ain't my skin, 

It's holy spirits here within !' 

' Waal,' says I, meanin' to be kind, 

' I must be off, for I'm behind ; 

But next time that I pass this way 

We'll fix ourselves without delay. 

I know what your complaint is, Ciss, 

I've seen the same in many a miss, 

Keep up your spirits, thet's your plan, 

You're lonely here without a man, 

And you shall hev as good a one 

As e'er druv hoss beneath the sun ! ' 

At that I buss'd her with a smack, 

Turn'd out, jump'd up, and took the track, 

And larfing druv along the pass. 



" Theer ! Guess I was as green as grass !" 



rv. 

THE BOOK OF MORMON. 

" 'Twas jest a week after thet day 
"When down I druv again this way. 
My heart was light ; and 'neath the box 
I'd got a shawl and two fine frocks 
For Cissy. On in spanking style 
The hosses went mile arter mile ; 
The sun was blazing golden bright, 
The sunflowers burning in the light, 
The cattle in the golden gleer 
Wading for coolness everywheer 
Among the shinin' ponds, with flies 
As thick as pepper round their eyes 
And on their heads. See ! as I went 
Whistling like mad and waal content, 



THE BOOK OF MORMON. 19 

Akho' 'twas broad bright day all round, 
A cock crow'd, and I thought the sound 
Seem'd pleasant. Twice or thrice he 

crow'd, 
And then up to the ranche I rode. 
Since then I've often heerd folk say 
When a cock crows in open day 
It's a bad sign, announcin' clear 
Black luck or death to those thet hear 

" When I drew up, all things were still. 

I saw the boys far up the hill 

Tossin' the hay ; but at the door 

No Cissy stood as oft afore. 

No, not a soul there, left nor right, 

Her very chicks were out o' sight. 

So down I jump'd, and ' Ciss ! ' I cried, 

But not a sign of her outside. 

With thet into the house I ran, 

But found no sight of gel or man— 



20 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

All empty. Thinks I, ' this is queer ! ' — 
Look'd in the dairy — no one theer ; 
Then loiter'd round the kitchen track 
Into the orchard at the back : 
Under the fruit-trees' shade I pass'd, . . 
Thro' the green bushes, . . . and at last 
Found, as the furthest path I trode, 
The gel I wanted. Ye . . . s ! by ! 



"The gel I wanted — ay, I found 
More than I wanted, you'll be bound ! 
Theer, seated on a wooden cheer, 
With bows and ribbons in her heer, 
Her hat a-swinging on a twig 
Close by, sat Ciss in her best rig, 
And at her feet that knowing one, 
The Apostle Hiram Higginson ! 
They were too keen to notice me, 
So I held back behind a tree 



IN THE ORCHARD. 21 

And watch'd 'em. Never night nor day- 
Did I see Cissy look so gay, 
Her eyes all sparkling blue and bright, 
Her face all sanctified delight. 
She hed her gown tuck'd up to show 
Embrider'd petticoat below, 
And jest a glimpse, below the white, 
Of dainty leg in stocking tight 
With crimson clocks ; and on her knee 
She held an open book, which he, 
Thet dern'd Apostle at her feet, 
With her low milking stool for seat, 
Was reading out all clear and pat, 
Keeping the place with finger fat ; 
Creeping more close to book and letter 
To feel the warmth of his text better, 
His crimson face like a cock's head 
With his emotion as he read, 
And now and then his eyes he'd close 
Jest like a cock does when he crows ! 



22 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

Above the heads of thet strange two 
The shade was deep, the sky was blue, 
The place was full of warmth and smell, 
All round the fruit and fruit-leaves fell, 
And that Saint's voice, when all was 

still, 
Was like the groanin' of a mill. 

" At last he stops for lack of wind, 
And smiled with sarcy double-chinn'd 
Fat face at Cissy, while she cried, 
Rocking herself from side to side, 
i O Bishop, them are words of bliss ! ' 
And then he gev a long fat kiss 
On her warm hand, and edged his stool 
Still closer. Could a man keep cool 
And see it ? Trembling thro' and thro' 
I walked right up to thet theer two, 
And caught the dern'd old lump of duff 
Jest by the breeches and the scruff, 



JOE TAKES DESPERATE MEASURES. 23 

And chuck'd him off, and with one kick 
Sent his stool arter him right slick — 
While Cissy scream'd with frighten'd face, 
' Spare him ! spare that man of grace ! ' 

"' Spare him !' I cried, and gev a shout, 
* What's this yer shine you air about — 
What cuss is this that I jest see 
With that big book upon your knee, 
Cuddling up close and making sham 
To read a heap of holy flam ?' 
Then Cissy clasp'd her hands, and said, 
While that dern'd Saint sat fierce and 

red, 
Mopping his brow with a black frown, 
And squatting where I chuck'd him down, 
' Joe Wilson, stay your hand so bold, 
Come not a wolf into the fold ; 
Forbear to touch that holy one — 
The Apostle Hiram Higginson.' 



24 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

1 Touch him,' said I, ' for half a pin 
I'd flay and quarter him and skin ! 
Waal may he look so white and skeer'd, 
For of his doings I have heerd ; 
Five wives he hev already done, 
And him — not half the man for one ! ' 



" And then I stoop'd and took a peep 
At what they'd studied at so deep, 
And read, for I can read a bit, 
'The Book of Mormon ' — what was writ 
By the first Saint of all the lot, 
Mad Joseph, him the Yankees shot. 
'What's the contents of this yer book ?' 
Says I, and fixed her with a look. 
' O Joe,' she answered, ' read aright, 
It is a book of blessed light — 
Thet holy man expounds it clear; 
Edification great is theer ! ' 



JOE AND THE BISHOP. 25 

Then, for my blood was up, I took 
One kick at thet infernal book, 
And tho' the Apostle guv a cry, 
Into the well I made it fly, 
And turning to the Apostle cried, 
' Tho' thet theer Scriptur' is your guide, 
You'd best depart without delay, 
Afore you sink in the same way ! 
And sure as fate you'll wet your skin 
If you come courting yer agin ! ' 



" At first he stared and puff'd and blew, — 

' Git out ! ' I cried, and off he flew, 

And not till he was out o' reach 

Shook his fat fist and found his speech. 

I turned to Cissy. ' Cicely Dunn,' 

Ses I, ' is this a bit of fun 

Or eernest ?' Reckon 'twas a sight 

To see the way she stood upright, 



2b THE BOSS'S TALE. 

Rolled her blue eyes up, tried to speak, 
Made fust a giggle, then a squeak, 
And said half crying, ' I despise 
Your wicked calumnies and lies, 
And Avhat you would insinuate 
Won't move me from my blessed state. 
Now I perceive in time, thank hiven, 
You are a man to anger given, 
Jealous and vi'lent. Go away ! 
And when you recollect this day, 
And those bad words you've said to me, 
Blush if you kin. Tehee ! tehee ! ' 
And then she sobbed, and in her cheer 
Fell crying: so I felt quite queer, 
And stood like a dern'd fool, and star'd 
Watchin' the pump a-going hard ; 
And then at last, I couldn't stand 
The sight no more, but slipt my hand 
Sharp into hers, and said quite kind, 
'Say no more, Cissy — never mind; 



JOE AND CISS. 27 

I know how queer you women's ways is — 

Let the Apostle go to blazes !' 

Now thet was plain and fair. "With this 

I would have put my arm round Ciss. 

But Lord ! you should have seen her face, 

When I attempted "to embrace ; 

Sprang to her feet and gev a cry, 

Her back up like a cat's, her eye 

All blazing, and cried fierce and clear, 

* You villain, touch me if you deer ! ' 
And jest then in the distance, fur 
From danger, a voice echoed her,- - 
The dern'd Apostle's, from some place 
Where he had hid his ugly face, — 
Crying out faint and thick and clear, 

* Yes, villain, touch her if you deer ! * 



So riled I was, to be so beat, 

I could have struck her to my feet. 



28 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

I didn't tho', tho' sore beset — 
I never struck a woman yet. 

" But off I walked right up the pass, 
And found the men among the grass, 
And when I came in sight said flat, 
' What's this yer game Cissy is at ? 
She's thrown me off, and taken pity 
On an Apostle from the City. 
Five wives already, too, has he — 
Poor cussed things as e'er I see — 
Does she mean mischief or a lark?* 
Waal, all the men at thet look'd dark, 
And scratch'd their heads and seem'd in 

doubt. 
At last her brother Jim spoke out — 
' Joe, don't blame us — by George, it's true, 
We're chawed by this as much as you ; 
We've done our best and tried and tried, 
But Ciss is off her head with pride. 



JIM DUNN'S EXPLANATION. 29 

And all her thoughts, both night and day, 
Are with the Apostles fur away. 
" that I were in bliss with them 
Theer in the new Jerusalem !" 
She says ; and when we laugh and sneer, 
Ses we're jest raging wolves down here. 
She's a bit dull at home d'ye see, 
Allays liked heaps of company, 
And now the foolish critter paints 
A life of larks among the Saints. 
We've done our best, don't hev a doubt, 
To keep the old Apostle out : 
We've trained the dogs to seize and bite him, 
We've got up ghosts at night to fright him, 
Doctor' d his hoss and so upset him, 
Put tickle-grass in bed to fret him, 
Jalap'd his beer and snuffed his tea too, 
Gunpowder in his pipe put free too ; 
A dozen times we've well-nigh kill'd him, 
We've skeer'd him, shaken him, and spill'd 
him; 



30 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

In fact, done all we deer,' said Jim, 
'Against a powerful man like him ; 
But all in vain we've hed our sport ; 
Jest like a cat that cant be hurt, 
With nine good lives if he hev one, 
Is this same Hiram Higginson V " 



Mm 



JOE ENDS HIS STORY. — FIRST GLIMPSE OF UTAH. 

Joe paused, for down the mountain's brow 

His hastening horses trotted now. 

Into a canyon green and bright, 

Thro' which a beck was sparkling bright, 

Quickly we wound. Joe Wilson lit 

His cutty pipe, and suck'd at it 

In silence grim ; and*when it drew, 

Puff after puff of smoke he blew, 

With blank eye fixed on vacancy. 

At last he turned again to me, 

And spoke with bitter indignation 

The epilogue of his narration. 

" Waal, stranger, guess my story's told, 
The Apostle beat and I was bowl'd. 



32 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

Reckon I might have won if I 

Had allays been at hand to try; 

But I was busy out of sight, 

And he was theer, morn, noon, and night, 

Playing his cards, and waal it vveer 

For him I never caught him theer. 

To cut the story short, I guess 

He got the Prophet to say ' yes,' 

And Cissy without much ado 

Gev her consent to hev him too ; 

And one fine morning off they druv 

To what he called the Abode of Love — 

A dern'd old place, it seems to me, 

Jest like a dove-box on a tree, 

Where every lonesome woman-soul 

Sits shivering in her own hole, 

And on the outside, free to choose, 

The old cock-pigeon struts and coos. 

I've heard from many a one that Ciss 

Has found her blunder out by this, 



JOE ENDS HIS STORY. 33 

And she'd prefer for company 
A brisk young chap, tho' poor, like me, 
Than the sixth part of him she's won — 
The holy Hiram Higginson. 
I've got a peep at her since then, 
When she's crawl' d out of thet theer den, 
But she's so pale and thin and tame 
I shouldn't know her for the same. 
No flesh to pinch upon her cheek, 
Her legs gone thin, no voice to speak, 
Dabby and crush' d, and sad and flabby, 
Sucking a wretched squeaking baby ; 
And all the fun and all' the light 
Gone from her face, and left it white. 
Her cheek '11 take a feeble flush, 
But hesn't blood enough to blush ; 
Tries to seem modest, peart and sly, 
And brighten up if I go by, 
But from the corner of her eyes 
Peeps at me quietly, and sighs. 

D 



34 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

Reckon her luck has been a stinger ! 

She'd bolt if I held up my linger ; 

But tho' I'm rough, and wild, and free, 

Take a Saint's leavings — no not me ! 

You've heerd of Vampires — them that rise 

At dead o' night with flaming eyes, 

And into women's beds '11 creep 

To suck their blood when they're asleep. 

I guess these Saints are jest the same, 

Sucking the life out is their game ; 

And tho' it ain't in the broad sun 

Or in the open streets it's done, 

There ain't a woman they clap eyes on 

Their teeth don't touch, their touch don't pison ; 

Thet's their dern'd way in this yer spot — 

Grrr ! git along, hoss ! dern you, trot!" 



From pool to pool the wild beck sped 
Beside us, dwindled to a thread. 






A SUMMER SCENE. 35 

With mellow verdure fringed around 
It sang along with summer sound : 
Here gliding into a green glade ; 
Here darting from a nest of shade 
With sudden sparkle and quick cry, 
As glad again to meet the sky ; 
Here whirling off with eager will 
And quickening tread to turn a mill ; 
Then stealing from the busy place 
With duskier depths and wearier pace. 
In the blue void above the beck 
Sailed with us, dwindled to a speck, 
The hen-hawk; and from pools below 
The blue-wing' d heron oft rose slow, 
And upward pass'd with measured beat 
Of wing to seek some new retreat. 
Blue was the heaven and darkly bright, 
Suffused with throbbing golden light, 
And in the burning Indian ray 
A million insects hummed at play. 



36 THE BOSS'S TALE. 

Soon, by the margin of the stream, 
We passed a driver with his team 
Bound for the City ; then a hound 
Afar off made a dreamy sound ; 
And suddenly the sultry track 
Left the green canyon at our back, 
And sweeping round a curve, behold! 
We came into the yellow gold 
Of perfect sunlight on the plain ; 
And Joe, abruptly drawing rein, 
Said quick and sharp, shading his eyes 
With sunburnt hand, " See, theer it 

lies — 
Theer' s Sodom!" 



And even as he cried, 
The mighty Valley we descried, 
Burning below us in one ray 
Of liquid light that summer day ; 






UTAH AT LAST! 37 

And far away, 'mid peaceful gleams 
Of flocks and herds and glistering streams, 
Rose, fair as aught that fancy paints, 
The wondrous City of the Saints ! 



O Saints that shine around the heavenly Seat ! 

What heaven is this that opens at my feet ? 

W? at flocks are these that thro'' tfie golden gleam 

Stray on by freckled fields and shining stream ? 

What glittering roofs and white kiosks are these, 

Up-peeping from the shade of emerald trees ? 

Whose City is this that rises on the sight 

Fair and fantastic as a city of light 

Seen in the sunset ? What is yonder sea 

Opening beyond the City cool and free, 

Large, deep, and luminous, looming thro'' the heat, 

And lying at the darkly shadowed feet 

Of the Sierras, which with jagged line 

Burning to a?7iber in the light divine, 

Close in the Valley of the happy land, 

With heights as barren as a dead marts hand? 

O pilgrim, halt! O wandering heart, give praise! 
Behold the City of these Latter Days! 
Here mayst thou leave thy load and be forgiven^ 
And in anticipation taste of Heaven! 



THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 



among the pastures. — summer evening 
dialogue. 

Bishop Pete. Bishop Joss. Stranger. 

Bishop Pete. 

Ah, things down here, as you observe, are getting 

more pernicious, 
And Brigham's losing all his nerve, altho* the 

fix is vicious. 
Jest as we've rear'd a prosperous place and fill'd 

our holy quivers, 
The Yankee comes with dern'd long face to give 

us all the shivers ! 



42 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

And on his jaws a wicked grin prognosticates 

disaster, 
And, jest as sure as sin is sin, he means to be 

the master. 
" Pack up your traps," I hear him cry, " for here 

there's no remainin'," 
And winks with his malicious eye, and progues 

us out of Canaan. 

Bishop Joss. 

It ain't the Yankee that / fear, the neighbour 

nor the stranger — 
No, no, it's closer home, it's here, that I perceive 

the danger. 
The wheels of State has gather'd rust, the helm 

wants hands to guide it, 
'Tain't from without the biler'll bust, but 'cause 

of steam inside it ; 
Yet if we went falootin' less,* and made less 

noise and flurry, 



THE BULWARK OF THE FAITH. 43 

It isn't Jonathan, I guess, would hurt us in a 

hurry. ' 
But there's sedition east and west, and secret 

revolution, 
There's canker in the social breast, rot in the 

constitution ; 
And over half of us, at least, are plunged in mad 

vexation, 
Forgetting how our race increased, our very 

creed's foundation. 
What's our religion's strength and force, its 

substance, and its story ? 

Stranger. 

Polygamy, my friend, of course ! the law of love 
and glory ! 

Bishop Pete. 

Stranger, I'm with you there, indeed : — it's been 
the best of nusses ; 



44 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

Polygamy is to our creed what meat and drink 

to us is. 
Destroy that notion any day, and all the rest is 

brittle, 
And Mormondom dies clean away like one in 

want of vittle. 
It's meat and drink, it's life, it's power ! to 

heaven its breath doth win us ! 
It warms our vitals every hour! it's Holy Ghost 

within us ! 
Jest lay that notion on the shelf, and all life's 

springs are frozen ! 
I've half-a-dozen wives myself, and wish I had a 

dozen ! 

Bishop Joss. 

If all the Elders of the State like you were sound 

and holy, 
P. Shufflebotham, guess our fate were far less 

melancholy. 



BISHOP JOSS DESCRIBETH ST. ABE. 45 

You air a man of blessed toil, far-shining and 
discerning, 

A heavenly lamp well trimm'd with oil, upon the 
altar burning. 

And yet for every one of us with equal resolu- 
tion, 

There's twenty samples of the Cuss, as mean as 
Brother Clewson. 

Stranger. 
St. Abe ? 

Bishop Joss. 

Yes, him — the snivelling sneak — his very name 

provokes me, — 
Altho' my temper's milky-meek, he sours me 

and he chokes me. 
To see him going up and down with those meek 

lips asunder, 
Jest like a man about to drown, with lead to sink 

him under, 



46 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

His grey hair on his shoulders shed, one leg than 

t'other shorter, 
No end of cuteness in his head, and him — as 

weak as water ! 

Bishop Pete. 

And yet how well I can recall the time when 

Abe was younger — 
Why not a chap among us all went for the 

notion stronger. 
When to the mother-country he was sent to wake 

the sinning, 
He shipp'd young lambs across the sea by /locks 

— he was so winning ; 
O but he had a lively style, describing saintly 

blisses ! 
He made the spirit pant and smile, and seek 

seraphic kisses ! 
How the bright raptures of the Saint fresh lustre 

seemed to borrow, 






ST. ABE'S WEAKNESS. 47 

While black and awful he did paint the one-wived 

sinner's sorrow ! 
Each woman longed to be his bride, and by his 

side to slumber — 
"The more the blesseder!" he cried, still adding 

to the number. 

Stranger. 

How did the gentleman contrive to change his 
skin so quickly ? 

Bishop Joss. 

The holy Spirit couldn't thrive because the Flesh 

was sickly! 
Tho' day by day he did increase his flock, his 

soul was shallow, 
His brains were only candle-grease, and wasted 

down like tallow. 
He stoop'd a mighty heap too much, and let his 

household rule him, 



48 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

The weakness of the man was such that any face 
could fool him. 

Aye ! made his presence cheap, no doubt, and so 

contempt grew quicker, — 
Not measmiiig nis notice out in smallish drams, 
like liquor. 

His house became a troublous house, with mis- 
chief overbrimming 

And he went creeping like a mouse among the 
cats of women. 

Ah, womenfolk are hard to rule, their tricks is 
most surprising, 

It's only a dern'd spoony fool goes sentimental- 
ising! 

But give 'em now and then a bit of notice and a 
present, 

And lor, they're just like doves, that sit on one 
green branch, all pleasant ! 

But Abe's love was a queer complaint, a sort of 
tertian fever, 



BISHOP PETE DEFINETH SAINTLINESS. 49 

Each case he cured of thought the Saint a 

thorough- paced deceiver; 
And soon he found, he did indeed, with all their 

whims to nourish, 
That Mormonism ain't a creed where fleshly 

follies flourish. 

Bishop Pete. 

Ah, right you air ! A creed it is demandin' iron 

mettle ! 
A will that quells, as soon as riz, the biling of 

the kettle ! 
With wary eye, with manner deep, a spirit 

overbrimmin', 
Like to a shepherd 'mong his sheep, the Saint is 

'mong his women ; 
And unto him they do uplift their eyes in awe 

and wonder ; 
His notice is a blessed gift, his anger is blue 

thunder : 



S o AMONG THE PASTURES. 

No n'ises vex the holy place where dwell those 

blessed parties ; 
Each missus shineth in her place, and blithe and 

meek her heart is ! 
They sow, they spin, they darn, they hem, their 

blessed babes they handle, 
The Devil never comes to them, lit by that holy 

candle ! 
When in their midst serenely w^alks their 

Master and their Mentor, 
They're hush'd, as when the Prophet stalks down 

holy church's centre ! 
They touch his robe, they do not move, those 

blessed wives and mothers, 
And, when on one he shineth love, no envy fills 

the others ; 
They know his perfect saintliness, and honour 

his affection — 
And, if they did object, I guess he'd settle that 

objection ! 



ST. ABE'S HOUSEHOLD DESCRIBED. 51 

Bishop Joss. 

It ain't a passionate flat like Abe can manage 

things in your way ! , 

They teased that most etarnal babe, till things 

were in a poor way. 
I used to watch his thorny bed, and bust my 

sides with laughter. 
Once give a female hoss her head you'll never 

stop her after. 
It's one thing getting seal'd, and he was mighty 

fond of Sealing, 
He'd all the human heat, d'ye see, without the 

saintly feeling. 
His were the wildest set of gals that ever drove 

man silly, 
# Each full of freaks and fal-de-lals, as frisky as a 

filly. 
One pull'd this way, and t'other that, and made 

his life a mockery, 



I 



52 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

They'd all the feelings of a cat scampaging 

'mong the crockery. 
I saw Abe growing pale and thin, and well I 

knew what ail'd him — 
The skunk went stealing out and in, and all his 

spirit failed him ; 
And tho' the tanning-yard paid well, and he 

was money-making, 
His saintly home was hot as Hell, and, ah ! 

how he was baking ! 
Why, now and then at evening-time, when his 

day's work was over, 
Up this here hill he used to climb and squat 

among the clover, 
And with his fishy eye he'd glare across the 

Rocky Mountains, 
And wish he was away up there, among the 

heavenly fountains ! 
I had an aunt, Tabitha Brooks, a virgin under 

fifty, 



TABITHA WOOETH ABRAHAM. 53 

She warn't so much for pretty looks, but she 

was wise and thrifty ; 
She'd seen the vanities of life, was good at 

'counts and brewin' — 
Thinks I, " Here's just the sort of Wife to save 

poor Abe from ruin." 
So, after fooling many a week, and showing 

him she loved him, 
And seeing he was shy to speak, whatever 

feelings moved him, 
At last I took her by the hand, and led her to 

him straightway, 
One day when we could see him stand jest close 

unto the gateway. 
My words were to the p'int and brief: says I, 

" My brother Clewson, 
There'll be an end to all your grief, if you've got 

resolution. 
Where shall you find a house that thrives with- 
out a head that's ruling ? 



54 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

Here is the paragon of wives to teach those 

others schooling ! 
She'll be to you not only wife, but careful as a 

mother — 
A little property for life is hers ; you'll share it, 

brother. 
I've seen the question morn and eve within your 

eyes unspoken, 
You're slow and nervous I perceive, but now — the 

ice is broken. 
Here is a guardian and a guide to bless a man 

and grace him ; " 
And then I to Tabitha cried, " Go in, old gal — 

embrace him ! " 

Stranger. 

Why, that was acting fresh and fair ; — but Abe, 
was he as hearty ? 

Bishop Joss. 

We ... 11 ! Abe was never anywhere against a 
female party ! 



HOW ST. ABE WAS SEALED TO TABITHA. 55 

At first he seemed about to run, and then we 

might have missed him ; 
But Tabby was a tender one, she collar' d him 

and kissed him. . 
And round his neck she blushing hung, part 

holding, part caressing, 
And murmur' d, with a faltering tongue, "O, Abe, 

I'll be a blessing/' 
And home they walk'd one morning, he just 

reaching to her shoulders, 
And sneaking at her skirt, while she stared 

straight at all beholders. 
Swinging her bonnet by the strings, and setting 

her lips tighter, 
In at his door the old gal springs, her grim eyes 

growing brighter ; 
And, Lord ! there was the devil to pay, and 

lightning and blue thunder, 
For she was going to have her way, and hold 

the vixens under ; 



56 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

They would have torn old Abe to bits, they 

were so anger-bitten, 
But Tabby saved him from their fits, as a cat 

saves her kitten. 

Stranger. 

It seems your patriarchal life has got its 

botherations, 
And leads to much domestic strife and infinite 

vexations ! 
But when the ladies couldn't lodge in peace one 

house-roof under, 
I thought that 'twas the saintly dodge to give 

them homes asunder ? 

Bishop Joss. 

And you thought right ; it is a plan by many 

here affected — 
Never by me — I ain't the man — I'll have my will 

respected. 



BISHOP JOSS'S OWN DOMESTIC SYSTEM. 57 

If all the women of my house can't fondly pull 

together, 
And each as meek as any mouse, look out for 

stormy weather ! — 
No, no, I don't approve at all of humouring my 

women, 
And building lots of boxes small for each one 

to grow grim in. 
I teach them jealousy's a sin, and solitude's just 

bearish, 
They nuss each other lying-in, each other's babes 

they cherish ; 
It is a family jubilee, and not a selfish plea- 
sure, 
Whenever one presents to me another infant 

treasure ! 
All ekal, all respected, each with tokens oi 

affection, 
They dwell together, soft of speech, beneath their 
lord's protection ; 



58 .AMONG THE PASTURES. 

And if by any chance I mark a spark of shindy 

raising, 
I set my heel upon that spark, — before the house 

gets blazing ! 
Now that's what Clewson should have done, but 

couldn't, thro' his folly, 
For even when Tabby's help was won, he wasn't 

much more jolly. 
Altho' she stopt the household fuss, and husht 

the awful riot, 
The old contrairy stupid Cuss could not enj'y 

the quiet. 
His house was peaceful as a church, all solemn, 

still, and saintly ; 
And yet he'd tremble at the porch, and look 

about him faintly ; 
And tho' the place was all his own, with hat in 

hand he'd enter, 
Like one thro' public buildings shown, soft 

treading down the centre. 



BOW ANNE JONES CAME TO UTAH. 59 

Still, things were better than before, though 

somewhat trouble-laden, 
When one fine day unto his door there came a 

Yankee maiden. 
"Is Brother Clewson in r" she says; and when 

she saw and knew him, 
The stranger gal to his amaze scream'd out and 

clung unto him. 
Then in a voice all thick and wild, exclaim'd that 

gal unlucky, 
«0 Sir, I'm Jason Jones's child-he's dead- 

stabb'd in Kentucky ! 
And father's gone, and O I've come to you 

across the mountains." 
And then the little one was dumb, and Abe's 

eyes gushed like fountains. . . . 
He took that gal into his place, and kept her as 

his daughter— 
Ah, mischief to her wheedling face and the bad 
wind that brought her ' 



6o AMONG THE PASTURES. 

Bishop Pete. 
I knew that Jones ; — used to faloot about Emanci- 
pation — 
It made your very toe-nails shoot to hear his 

declamation. 
And when he'd made all bosoms swell with 

wonder at his vigour, 
He'd get so drunk he couldn't tell a white man 

from a nigger ! 
Was six foot high, thin, grim, and pale, — his 

troubles can't be spoken — 
Tarred, feathered, ridden on a rail, left beaten, 

bruised, and broken ; 
But nothing made his tongue keep still, or stopt 

his games improper, 
Till, after many an awkward spill, he came the 

final cropper. 

Bishop Joss. 

. . . That gal was fourteen years of age, and sly 
with all her meekness ; 



JASON JONES'S LEGACY. 61 

It put the fam'ly in a rage, for well they knew 

Abe's weakness. 
But Abe (a cuss, as I have said, that any fool 

might sit on) 
Was stubborn as an ass's head, when once he 

took the fit on ! 
And, once he fixed the gal to take, in spite of 

their vexation, 
Not all the rows on earth would break his firm 

determination. 
He took the naggings as they came, he bowed 

his head quite quiet, 
S l ill mild he was and sad and tame, and ate the 

peppery diet ; 
But tho' he seemed so crush'd to be, when this 

or that one blew up, 
He stuck to Jones's Legacy and school'd her till 

she grew up. 
Well ! there ! the thing was said and done, and 

so far who could blame him ? 



62 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

But O he was a crafty one, and sorrow couldn't 

shame him ! 
That gal grew up, and at eighteen was prettier 

far and neater — 
There were not many to be seen about these 

parts to beat her ; 
Peart, brisk, bright-eyed, all trim and tight, like 

kittens fond of playing, 
A most uncommon pleasant sight at pic-nic or 

at praying. 
Then it became, as you'll infer, a simple public 

duty, 
To cherish and look after her, considering her 

beauty ; 
And several Saints most great and blest now 

offer' d their protection, 
And I myself among the rest felt something of 

affection. 
But O the selfishness of Abe, all things it beats 

and passes ! 



SISTER ANNE HATH MANY WOOERS. 63 

As greedy as a two-year babe a-grasping at 

molasses ! 
When once those Shepherds of the flock began 

to smile and beckon, 
He screamed like any fighting cock, and raised 

his comb, I reckon ! 
First one was floor d, then number two, she 

wouldn't look at any ; 
Then my turn came, although I knew the 

maiden's faults were many. 
" My brother Abe," says I, " I come untoe your 

house at present 
To offer sister Anne a home which she will find 

most pleasant. 
You know I am a saintly man, and all my ways 

are lawful " — 
And in a minute he began abusing me most 

awful. 
" Begone," he said, " you're like the rest, — 

wolves, wolves with greedy clutches ! 



04 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

Poor little lamb ; but in my breast 111 shield her 

from your touches ! " 
" Come, come," says I, " a gal can't stay a child 

like that for ever, 
You'll hev to seal the gal some day ; " but Abe 

cried fiercely, " Never ! " 
Says I, " Perhaps it's in your view yourself this 

lamb to gather ? " 
And "If it is, what's that to you ?" he cried; 

" but I'm her father ! 
You get along, I know your line, it's crushing, 

bullying, wearing, 
You'll never seal a child of mine, so go, and 

don't stand staring ! " 
This was the man once mild in phiz as any 

farthing candle — 
A hedgehog now, his quills all riz, whom no 

one dared to handle ! 
But O I little guessed his deal, nor tried to 

circumvent it, 



SISTER ANNE IS SEALED UNTO ST ABE. 65 

I never thought he'd dare to seal another ; but 

he meant it ! 
Yes, managed Brigham on the sly, for fear his 

plans miscarried, 
And long before we'd time to cry, the two were 

sealed and married. 

Bishop Pete. 

Well, you've your consolation now — he's pun- 
ished clean, I'm thinking, 

He's ten times deeper in the slough, up to his 
neck and sinking. 

There's vinegar in Abe's pale face enough to 
sour a barrel, 

Goes crawling up and down the place, neglect- 
ing his apparel, 

Seems to have lost all heart and soul, has fits of 
absence shocking — 

His home is like a rabbit's hole when weasels 
come a-knocking. 



66 AMONG THE PASTURES. 

And now and then, to put it plain, while falling 

daily sicker, 
I think he tries to float his pain by copious goes 

of liquor. 

Bishop Joss. 

Yes, that's the end of selfishness, it leads to 

long vexation — 
No man can pity Abe, I guess, who knows his 

situation ; 
And, Stranger, if this man you meet, don't take 

him for a sample, 
Although he speaks you fair and sweet, he's set 

a vile example. 
Because you see him ill at ease, at home, and 

never hearty, 
Don't think these air the tokens, please, of a 

real saintly party ! 
No, he's a failure, he's a sham, a scandal to our 

nation, 



TWO MODEL SAINTS. 67 

Not fit to lead a single lamb, unworthy of his 

station ; 
No ! if you want a Saint to see, who rules lambs 

when he's got 'em, 
Just cock your weather-eye at me y or Brother 

Shufflebotham. 
We don't go croaking east and west, afraid of 

women's faces, 
We bless and we air truly blest in our domestic 

places ; 
We air religious, holy men, happy our folds to 

gather, 
Each is a loyal citizen, also a husband — rather. 
But now with talk you're dry and hot, and 

weary with your ride here, 
Jest come and see my fam'ly lot, — they're waiting 

tea inside here. 



n. 

WITHIN THE CITY. — SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. 

Sister Tabitha, thirty odd, 

Rising up with a stare and a nod ; 

Sister Amelia, sleepy and mild, 

Freckled, Dudu-ish, suckling a child ; 

Sister Fanny, pert and keen, 

Sister Emily, solemn and lean, 

Sister Mary, given to tears, 

Sister Sarah, with wool in her ears ; — 

All appearing like tapers wan 

In the mellow sunlight of Sister Anne. 

With a tremulous wave of his hand, the Saint 
Introduces the household quaint, 



FADED FLOWERS. 69 

And sinks on a chair and looks around, 
As the dresses rustle with snakish sound, 
As curtsies are bobb'd, and eyes cast down 
Some with a simper, some with a frown, 
And Sister Anne, with a fluttering breast, 
Stands trembling and peeping behind the rest. 



Every face but one has been 
Pretty, perchance, at the age of eighteen, 
Pert and pretty, and plump and bright ; 
But now their fairness is faded quite, 
And every feature is fashion'd here 
To a flabby smile, or a snappish sneer. 
Before the stranger they each assume 
A false fine flutter and feeble bloom, 
\nd a little colour comes into the cheek 
^Vhen the eyes meet mine, as I sit and speak ; 
But there they sit and look at me, 
Vlmost withering visibly, 



7 o SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. 

And languidly tremble and try to blow — 
Six pale roses all in a row ! 



Six ? ah, yes ; but at hand sits one, 

The seventh, still full of the light of the sun. 

Though her colour terribly comes and goes, 

Now white as a lily, now red as a rose, 

So sweet she is, and so full of light, 

That the rose seems soft, and the lily bright. 

Her large blue eyes, with a tender care, 

Steal to her husband unaware, 

And whenever he feels them he flushes red, 

And the trembling hand goes up to his head I 

Around those dove-like eyes appears 

A redness as of recent tears. 

Alone she sits in her youth's fresh bloom 

In a dark corner of the room, 

And folds her hands, and does not stir, 

And the others scarcely look at her, 



THE STRANGER ESSAFETH SMALL TALK. 71 

But crowding together, as if by plan, 
Draw further and further from Sister Anne. 

I try to rattle along in chat, 

Talking freely of this and that — 

The crops, the weather, the mother-land, 

Talk a baby could understand ; 

And the faded roses, faint and meek, 

Open their languid lips to speak, 

But in various sharps and flats, all low, 

Give a lazy " yes " or a sleepy " no/' 

Yet now and then Tabitha speaks, 

Snapping her answer with yellow cheeks, 

And fixing the Saint who is sitting by 

With the fish-like glare of her glittering eye, 

Whenever the looks of the weary man 

Stray to the corner of Sister Anne. 

Like a fountain in a shady place 

Is the gleam of the sadly shining face— 



72 SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. 

A fresh spring whither the soul might turn, 
When the road is rough, and the hot sands 

burn ; 
Like a fount, or a bird, or a blooming tree, 
To a weary spirit is such as she ! 
And Brother Abe, from his easy chair, 
Looks thither by stealth with an aching care, 
And in spite of the dragons that guard the 

brink 
Would stoop to the edge of the fount, I think, 
And drink ! and drink ! 

" Drink ? Stuff and fiddlesticks," you cry, 

Matron reader with flashing eye : 

" Isn't the thing completely his, 

His w ife, his mistress, whatever you please ? 

Look at her! Dragons and fountains! Absurd!" 

Madam, I bow to every word ; 

But truth is truth, and cannot fail, 

And this is quite a veracious tale. 



LOVING ONE'S OWN WIFE. 73 

More like a couple of lovers shy, 

Who flush and flutter when folk are by, 

Were man and wife, or (in another 

And holier parlance) sister and brother. 

As a man of the world I noticed it, 

And it made me speculate a bit, 

For the situation was to my mind 

A phenomenon of a curious kind — 

A person in love with his wife, 'twas clear, 

But afraid, when another soul was near, 

Of showing his feelings in any way 

Because — there would be the Devil to pay ! 

The Saint has been a handsome fellow, 
Clear-eyed, fresh-skinn'd, if a trifle yellow, 
And his face though somewhat soft and plain 
Ends in a towering mass of brain. 

His locks, though still an abundant crop, 
Are thinning a little at the top, 



74 SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. 

But you only notice here and there 
The straggling gleam of a silver hair. 
A man by nature rolled round and short, 
Meant for the Merry Andrew's sport, 
But sober'd down by the wear and tear 
Of business troubles and household care : 
Quiet, reticent, gentle, kind, 
Of amorous heart and extensive mind, 
A Saint devoid of saintly sham, 
Is little Brother Abraham. 



Brigham's right hand he used to be — 

Mild though he seems, and simple, and free ; 

Sound in the ways of the world, and great 

In planning potent affairs of state ; 

Not bright, nor bumptious, you must know, 

Too retiring for popular show, 

But known to conceive on a startling scale 

Gigantic plans that never fail ; 



THE SAINT IN PRIVATE LIFE. 75 

To hold with a certain secret sense 

The Prophet under his influence, 

To be, I am led to understand, 

The Brain, while the Prophet is the Hand, 

And to see his intellectual way 

Thro' moral dilemmas of every day, 

By which the wisest are led astray. 



Here's the Philosopher ! — here he sits, 
Here, with his vaguely wandering wits, 
Among the dragons, as I have said, 
Smiling, and holding his hand to his head. 
What mighty thoughts are gathering now 
Behind that marble mass of brow ? 
What daring schemes of polity 
To set the popular conscience free, 
And bless humanity, plannethhe ? 
His talk is idle, a surface-gleam, 
The ripple on the rest of the stream, 



76 SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. 

But his thoughts — ah, his thoughts — where do 

they fly, 
While the wretched roses under his eye 
Flutter and peep ? and in what doth his plan 
Turn to the counsel of Sister Anne ? 
For his eyes give ever a questioning look, 
And the little one in her quiet nook 
Flashes an answer, and back again 
The question runs to the Brother's brain, 
And the lights of speculation flit 
Over his face and trouble it. 

Follow his eyes once more, and scan 
The fair young features of Sister Anne : 
Frank and innocent, and in sooth 
Full of the first fair flush of youth. 
Quite a child — nineteen years old ; 
Not gushing, and self-possessed, and bold, 
Like our Yankee women at nineteen, 
But low of voice, and mild of mien — 



SISTER ANNE. 

More like the fresh young fruit you see 
In the mother-land across the sea — 
More like that rosiest flower on earth, 
A blooming maiden of English birth, 
Such as we find them yet awhile 
Scatter'd about the homely Isle, 
Not yet entirely eaten away 
By the canker-novel of the day, 
Or curling up and losing their scent 
In a poisonous dew from the Continent. 

There she sits, in her quiet nook, 

Still bright tho' sadden'd ; and while I look, 

My heart is filled and my eyes are dim, 

And I hate the Saint when I turn to him ! 

Ogre ! Blue Beard ! Oily and sly ! 

His meekness a cheat, his quiet a lie ! 

A roaring lion he'll walk the house 

Tho' now he crouches like any mouse ! 

Had not he pluck'd enough and to spare 

Of roses like these set fading there, 



77 



7 8 SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. 

• But he must seek to cajole and kiss 

Another yet, and a child like this ? 
A maid on the stalk, just panting to prove 
The honest joy of a virgin love ; 
A girl, a baby, an innocent child, 
To be caught by the first man's face that smiled ! 
Scarce able the difference to fix 
Of polygamy and politics ! 
Led to the altar like a lamb, 
And sacrificed to the great god Sham ! 
Deluded, martyr'd, given to woe, 
Last of seven who have perish' d so ; 
For who can say but the flowers I see 
Were once as rosy and ripe as she ? 



Already the household worm has begun 
To feed on the cheeks of the little one ; 
Already her spirit, fever-fraught, 
Droops to the weight of its own thought ; 



BOTTLED THUNDER. 

Already she saddens and sinks and sighs, 
Watched by the jealous dragonish eyes. 
Even Amelia, sleepy and wan, 
Sharpens her orbs as she looks at Anne ; 
While Sister Tabby, when she can spare 
Her gaze from the Saint in his easy-chair, 
Fixes her with a gorgon. glare. 

All is still and calm and polite, 

The Sisters bolster themselves upright, 

And try to smile, but the atmosphere 

Is charged with thunder and lightning here. 

Heavy it seems, and close and warm, 

Like the air before a summer storm ; 

And at times, — as in that drowsy dream 

Preluding thunder, all sounds will seem 

Distinct and ominously clear, 

And the far-off cocks seem crowing near ; — 

Ev'n so in the pauses of talk, each breast 

Is strangely conscious of the rest, 



79 



8o SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. 

And the tick of the watch of Abe the Saint 
Breaks on the air, distinct though faint, 
Like the ticking of his heart ! 

I rise 
To depart, still glancing with piteous eyes 
On Sister Anne ; and I find her face 
Turn'd questioning still to the same old place- 
The face of the Saint. I stand and bow, 
Curtsies again are bobbing now, 
Dresses rustling. . . I know no more 
Till the Saint has led me to the door, 
And I find myself in a day-dream dim, 
Just after shaking hands with him, 
Standing and watching him sad and slow 
Into the dainty dwelling go, 
With a heavy sigh, and his hand to his head. 

. . . Hark, distant thunder ! — 'tis as I said : 
The air was far too close ; — at length 
The Storm is breaking in all its strength. 



in. 



promenade — main street, utah. 

The Stranger. 

Along the streets they're thronging, walking, 
Clad gaily in their best and talking, 

Women and children, quite a crowd ; 
The bright sun overhead is blazing, 
The people sweat, the dust they're raising 

Arises like a golden cloud. 
Still out of every door they scatter, 
Laughing and light. Pray what's the matter, 

That such a flock of folks I see ? 
G 



82 MAIN STREET, UTAH. 

A Lounger. 

They're off to hear the Prophet patter, 
This yer's a day of jubilee. 

Voices. 

Come along, we're late I reckon. . . 
There's our Matt, I see him beckon. . • 
How d'ye do, marm ? glad to meet you. . • 
Silence, Hiram, or I'll beat you. . . 
Emm, there's brother Jones a-looking. . . 
Here's warm weather, how I'm cooking ! 

Stranger. 

Afar the hills arise with cone and column 
Into a sky of brass serene and solemn ; 
And underneath their shadow in one haze 
Of limpid heat the great salt waters blaze, 
While faint and filmy through the sultry veil 
The purple islands on their bosom sail 



BISHOPS GREETING. 83 

Like floating clouds of dark fantastic air. 

How strangely sounds (while 'mid the Indian 

glare 
Moves the gay crowd of people old and young) 
The bird-like chirp of the old Saxon tongue ! 
The women seem half weary and half gay, 
Their eyes droop in a melancholy way, — 
I have not seen a merry face to-day. 

A Bishop. 

Thet's a smart hoss you're riding, brother ! 
How are things looking, down with you ? 

Second Bishop. 

Not over bright with one nor 'tother, 

Taters are bad, tomatoes blue. 
You've heer'd of Brother Simpson's losses ? — 

Buried his wife and spiled his hay. 
And the three best of Hornby's hosses 

Some Injin cuss has stol'n away. 



84 MAIN STREET, UTAH, 

Voices. 

Zoe, jest fix up my gown. . . 
There's my hair a-coming down. . . 
Drat the babby, he's so crusty — 
It's the heat as makes him thusty. . . 
Come along, I'm almost sinking. . . 
There's a stranger, and he's winking. 

Stranger. 

That was a fine girl with the grey-hair'd lady, 
How shining were her eyes, how true and 

steady, 
Not drooping down in guilty Mormon fashion, 
But shooting at the soul their power and passion. 
That's a big fellow, six foot two, not under, 
But how he struts, and looks as black as thunder, 
Half glancing round at his poor sheep to scare 

'em — 
Six, seven, eight, nine, — O Abraham, what a 

harem ! 



COQUETTING WITH THE ENEMY. 85 

All berry brown, but looking scared as may be, 
And each one but the oldest with a baby. 

A Girl. 
Phcebe ! 

Another. 
Yes, Grace ! 

First Girl. 

Don't seem to notice, dear, 
That Yankee from the camp again is here, 
Making such eyes, and following on the sly, 
And coughing now and then to show he's nigh, 

Second Girl. 

Who's that along with him — the little scamp 
Shaking his hair and nodding w T ith a smile ? 

First Girl. 
Guess he's some new one just come down to 
camp. 



86 MAIN STREET, UTAH. 

Second Girl. 
Isn't he handsome ? 

First Girl. 

No ; the first's my style ! 

Stranger. 
If my good friends, the Saints, could get their 

will, 
These Yankee officers would fare but ill ; 
Wherever they approach the folk retire, 
As if from veritable coals of fire ; 
With distant bow, set lips, and half-hid frown, 
The Bishops pass them in the blessed town ; 
The women come behind like trembling sheep, 
Some freeze to ice, some blush and steal a peep. 
And often, as a band of maidens gay 
Comes up, each maid ceases to talk and play, 
Droops down her eyes, and does not look their 

way; 



ST. ABE PASSETH. 87 

But after passing where the youngsters pine, 
All giggle as at one concerted sign, 
And tripping on with half-hush'd merry cries, 
Look boldly back with laughter in their eyes ! 

Voices. 

Here we are, . . how folk are pushing ! . . 
Mind the babby in the crushing. . . 
Pheemy ! . . Yes, John ! . . Don't go staring 
At that Yankee — it's past bearing. 
Draw your veil down while he passes, 
Reckon you're as bold as brass is. 

Abe Clews on. 

[Passing with his hand to his head, attended by his 

Wives.'] 

Head in a whirl, and heart in a flutter. 
Guess I don't know the half that I utter. 



88 MAIN STREET, UTAH. 

Too much of this life is beginning to try me, 
I'm like a dern'd miller the grind always nigh 

me; 
Praying don't sooth me nor comfort me any, 
My house is too full and my blessings too 

many — 
The ways o' the wilderness puzzle me greatly. 

Sister Tabitha. 

Do walk like a Christian, and keep kind o* 

stately ! 
And jest keep an eye on those persons behind 

you, 
You call 'em your Wives, but they tease you and 

blind you ; 
Sister Anne's a disgrace, tho' you think her a 

martyr, 
And she's tuck'd up her petticoat nigh to her 

garter. 



A GROUP OF EMIGRANTS. 89 

Stranger. 

What group is this, begrim'd with dust and 

heat, 
Staring like strangers in the open street ? 
The women, ragged, wretched, and half dead, 
Sit on the kerbstone hot and hang the head, 
And clustering at their side stand children 

brown, 
Weary, with wondering eyes on the fair town. 
Close by in knots beside the unhorsed team 
The sunburn'd men stand talking in a dream, 
For the vast tracts of country left behind 
Seem now a haunting mirage in the mind. 
Gaunt miners folding hands upon their breasts, 

Big-jointed labourers looking ox-like down, 
And sickly artizans with narrow chests 

Still pallid from the smoke of English town. 
Hard by to these a group of Teutons stand, 
Light-hair' d, blue-eyed, still full of Fatherland, 



9 o MAIN STREET, UTAH 

With water-loving Northmen, who grow gay 

To see the mimic sea gleam far away. 

Now to this group, with a sharp questioning 

face, 
Cometh a holy magnate of the place 
In decent black ; shakes hands with some ; 

and then 
Begins an eager converse with the men : 
All brighten ; even the children hush their cries, 
And the pale women smile with sparkling eyes. 

Bishop. 

The Prophet welcomes you, and sends 
His message by my mouth, my friends ; 
He'll see you snug, for on this shore 
There's heaps of room for millions more ! . • 
Scotchman, I take it r . . Ah, I know 
Glasgow — was there a year or so. . . 
And if yoit don't from Yorkshire hail, 
I'll — ah, I thought so ; seldom fail. 



WELCOME TO CANAAN. 91 

Make yourselves snug and rest a spell, 
There's liquor coming — meat as well. 
All welcome ! We keep open door — 
Ah, we don't push away the poor ; 
Tho' he's a fool, you understand, 
Who keeps poor long in this here land. 
The land of honey you behold — 
Honey and milk — silver and gold ! 

An Artizan. 

Ah, that's the style — Bess, just you hear it; 
Come, come, old gal, keep up your spirit : 
Silver and gold, and milk and honey, 
This is the country for our money ! 

A German. 

Es lebe die Stadt ! es lebe dran ! 
Das heilige Leben steht mir an ! 

A Northman. 
Taler du norske ? 



92 MAIN STREET, UTAH. 

Bishop. 

[Shaking his head, and turning with a wink to the 
English."] 

No, not me ! 
Saxon's the language of the free : 
The language of the great Evangels ! 
The language of the Saints and Angels ! 
The only speech that Joseph knew ! 
The speech of him and Brigham too ! 
Only the speech by which we've thriven 
Is comprehended up in Heaven ! . . 
Poor heathens ! but we'll make 'em spry, 
They'll talk like Christians by and by. 

Stranger. 

[Strolling out of the streets, .] 

From east, from west, from every worn-out land, 
Yearly they stream to swell this busy band. 



DESERET. 



93 



Out of the fever'd famine of the slums, 
From sickness, shame, and sorrow, Lazarus comes, 
Drags his sore limbs o'er half the world and sea, 
Seeking for freedom and felicity. 
The sewer of ignorance and shame and loss, 
Draining old Europe of its dirt and dross, 
Grows the great City by the will of God ; 
While wondrously out of the desert sod, 
Nourished with lives unclean and weary hearts 
The new faith like a splendid weed upstarts. 
A splendid weed ! rather a fair wild-flower, 
Strange to the eye in its first birth of power, 
But bearing surely in its breast the seeds 
Of higher issues and diviner deeds. 
Changed from Sahara to a fruitful vale 
Fairer than ever grew in fairy tale, 
Transmuted into plenteous field and glade 
By the slow magic of the white man's spade, 
Grows Deseret, filling its mighty nest 
Between the eastern mountains and the west, 



9+ MAIN STREET, UTAH. 

While — who goes there ? What shape antique 

looks down 
From this green mound upon the festive town, 
With tall majestic figure darkly set 
Against the sky in dusky silhouette ? 
Strange his attire : a blanket edged with red 
Wrapt royally around him ; on his head 
A battered hat of the strange modern sort 
Which men have christened " chimney pots " in 

sport ; 
Mocassins on his feet, fur-fringed and grand, 
And a large green umbrella in his hand. 
Pensive he stands with deep-lined dreamy face, 
Last living remnant of the mighty race 
Who on these hunting-fields for many a year 
Chased the wild buffalo, and elk, and deer. 
Heaven help him ! In his mien grief and despair 
Seem to contend, as he stands musing there ; 
Until he notices that I am nigh, 
And lo! with outstretched hands and glistening 

eye 



THE LAST INDIAN. 9S 

Swift he descends — Does he mean mischief? 

No; 
He smiles and beckons as I turn to go. 

Indian. 

Ale Medicine Crow. White man gib drink to 

me. 
Great chief; much squaw; papoose, sah, one, 

two, three ! 

Stranger. 
With what a leer, half wheedling and half wink- 
ing, 
The lost one imitates the act of drinking ; 
His nose already, to his woe and shame, 
Carbuncled with the white man's liquid flame - 
Well, I pull out my flask, and fill a cup 
Of burning rum — how quick he gulps it up ; 
And in a moment in his trembling grip 
Thrusts out the cup for more with thirsty lip. 



96 MAIN STREET, UTAH. 

But no ! — already drunken past a doubt, 
Degenerate nomad of the plains, get out ! 

[_A railway whistle sounds in the far distance,^ 

Fire-hearted Demon tamed to human hand, 
Rushing with smoky breath from land to land, 
Screaming aloud to scare with rage and wrath 
Primaeval ignorance before his path, 
Dragging behind him as he runs along 
His lilliputian masters, pale and strong, 
With melancholy sound for plain and hill 
Man's last Familiar Spirit whistles shrill. 

Poor devil of the plains, now spent and frail, 
Hovering wildly on the fatal trail, 
Pass on ! — there lies thy way and thine abode, 
Get out of Jonathan thy master's road. 
Where ? anywhere ! — he's not particular where. 
So that you clear the road, he does not care ; 



WHITE MAN AND RED. 97 

Off, quick! clear out! ay, drink your fill and die; 
And, since the Earth rejects you, try the Sky! 
And see if He, who sent your white-faced 

brother 
To hound and drive you from this world you 

bother, 
Can find a corner for you in another ! 



IV. 



WITHIN THu oYNAGOGUE— SERMONIZETH THE 
PROPHET. 

Sisters and brothers who love the right, 

Saints whose hearts are divinely beating, 
Children rejoicing in the light, 

I reckon this is a pleasant meeting. 
Where's the face with a look of grief? — 

Jehovah's with us and leads the battle ; 
We've had a harvest beyond belief, 

And the signs of fever have left the cattle ; 
All still blesses the holy life 

Here in the land of milk and honey. 



DESCR1BETH THE FLIGHT FROM EGYPT. 99 

Feminine Whispers. 

Brother Shuttleworth's seventeenth wife, . . 
Her with the heer brushed up so funny ! 

The Prophet. 

Out of Egypt hither we flew, 

Through the desert and rocky places ; 
The people murmur d, and all look'd blue, 

The bones of the martyr' d filled our traces. 
Mountain and valley we crawl'd along, 

And every morning our hearts beat quicker. 
Our flesh was weak, but our souls were strong, 

And we'd managed to carry some kegs of 
liquor. 
At last we halted on yonder height, 

Just as the sun in the west was blinking. 

Feminine Whispers. 

Isn't Jedge Hawkins's last a fright ? . . . 

I'm suttin that Brother Abe's been drinking! 



ioo WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE. 



The Prophet. 

That night, my lambs, in a wondrous dream, 

I saw the gushing of many fountains ; 
Soon as the morning began to beam, 

Down we went from yonder mountains, 
Found the water just where I thought, 

Fresh and good, though a trifle gritty, 
Pitch'd our tents in the plain, and wrought 

The site and plan of the Holy City. 
" Pioneers of the blest," I cried, 

" Dig, and the Lord will bless each spade- 
ful/' 

Feminine Whispers. 

Brigham's sealed to another Bride. . . 

How worn he's gittin' ! he's aging dread- 
ful. 



HOW THE CITY WAS FOUNDED. 101 

The Prophet. 
This is a tale so often told, 

The theme of every eventful meeting ; 
Yes ! you may smile and think it old ; 

But yet it's a tale that will bear repeating. 
That's how the City of Light began, 

That's how we founded the saintly nation, 
All by the spade and the arm of man, 

And the aid of a special dispensation. 
" Work " was the word when we begun, 

" Work " is the word now we have plenty. 

Feminine Whispers. 

Heard about Sister Euphemia's son ? . . 
Sealing already, though only twenty ! 

The Prophet. 

I say just now what I used to say, 

Though it moves the heathens to mock and 
laughter, 



io* WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE. 

From work to prayer is the proper way — 

Labour first, and Religion after. 
Let a big man, strong in body and limb, 

Come here inquiring about his Maker, 
This is the question I put to him, 

" Can you grow a cabbage, or reap an 
acre r " 
What's the soul but a flower sublime, 

Grown in the earth and upspringing surely ? 

Feminine Whispers. 

O yes ! she's hed a most dreadful time ! 

Twins, both thriving, though she's so 
poorly. 

The Prophet. 

Beauty, my friends, is the crown of life, 

To the young and foolish seldom granted ; 

After a youth of honest strife 

Comes the reward for which you've panted. 



SAINTLY BLISS. 103 

O blessed sight beyond compare, 

When life with its halo of light is rounded, 
To see a Saint with reverend hair 

Sitting like Solomon love-surrounded ! 
One at his feet and one on his knee, 

Others around him, blue-eyed and dreamy ! 

Feminine Whispers. 

All very well, but as for me, 

My man had better! — I'd ftson him, 

Pheemy ! 

The Prophet. 

There in the gate of Paradise 

The Saint is sitting serene and hoary, 
Tendrils of arms, and blossoms of eyes, 

Festoon him round in his place of glory ; 
Little cherubs float thick as bees 

Round about him, and murmur " father ! ° 



io 4 WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE. 

The sun shines bright and he sits at ease, 
Fruit all round for his hand to gather. 

Blessed is he both night and day, 

Floating to Heaven and adding to it ! 

Feminine Whispers. 

Thought I should have gone mad that day- 
He brought a second ; I made him rue it ! 

The Prophet. 

Sisters and Brothers by love made wise, 

Remember, when Satan attempts to quell 
you, 
If this here Earth isn't Paradise 

You'll never see it, and so I tell you. 
Dig and drain, and harrow and sow, 

God will bless you beyond all measure; 
Labour, and meet with reward below, 

For what is the end of all labour ? Plea- 
sure! 



THE PROPHET DEFINETH HOLINESS, 105 

Labour's the vine, and pleasure's the grape, 
The one delighting, the other bearing. 



Feminine Whispers. 

Higginson's third is losing her shape. 

She hes too many — it's dreadful wearing. 



The Prophet. 

But I hear some awakening spirit cry, 

" Labour is labour, and all men know it ; 
But what is pleasure ? " and I reply, 

Grace abounding and Wives to show it ! 
Holy is he be)^ond compare 

Who tills his acres and takes his blessing, 
Who sees around him everywhere 

Sisters soothing and babes caressing. 
And his delight is Heaven's as well, 

For swells he not the ranks of the chosen ? 



106 WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE, 

Feminine Whispers. 

Martha is growing a handsome gel. . . 

Three at a birth r — that makes the dozen ! 

The Prophet. 

Learning's a shadow, and books a jest, 

One Book's a Light, but the rest are human. 
The kind of study that I think best 

Is the use of a spade and the love of a 
woman. 
Here and yonder, in heaven and earth, 

By big Salt Lake and by Eden river, 
The finest sight is a man of worth, 

Never tired of increasing his quiver. 
He sits in the light of perfect grace, 

With a dozen cradles going together ! 

Feminine Whispers. 
The babby's growing black in the face ! 

Carry him out — it's the heat of the weather ! 



THE PROPHET ENJOINETH FAITH. 107 

The Prophet. 

A faithful vine at the door of the Lord, 

A shining flower in the garden of spirits, 
A lute whose strings are of sweet accord, 

Such is the person of saintly merits. 
Sisters and brothers, behold and strive 

Up to the level of his perfection ; 
Sow, and harrow, and dig, and thrive, 

Increase according to God's direction. 
This is the Happy Land, no doubt, 

Where each may flourish in his vocation. • . 
Brother Bantam will now give out 

The hymn of love and of jubilation. 



V. 

THE FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT. 

Deep and wise beyond expression 
Sat the Prophet holding session, 
And his Elders, round him sitting 
With a gravity befitting, 
Never rash and never fiery, 
Chew'd the cud of each inquiry, 
Weighed each question and discussed it, 
Sought to si Ltle and adjust it, 
Till, with sudden indication 
Of a gush of inspiration, 
The grave Prophet from their middle 
Gave the answer to their riddle, 



PRESCIENCE OF THE PROPHET. 109 

And the lesser lights all holy, 
Round the Lamp revolving slowly, 
Thought, with eyes and lips asunder, 
"Right, we reckon, he's a wonder!" 



Whether Boyes, that blessed brother, 
Should be sealed unto another, 
Having, tho' a Saint most steady, 
Very many wives already ? 
Whether it was held improper, 
If a woman drank, to drop her ? 
Whether unto Brother Fleming 
Formal praise would be beseeming, 
Since from three or four potatoes, 
(Not much bigger than his great toes) 
He'd extracted, to their wonder, 
Four stone six and nothing under ? 
Whether Bigg be reprimanded 
For his conduct underhanded, 



no FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT. 

Since he'd packed his prettiest daughter 

To a heathen o'er the water ? 

How, now Thompson had departed, 

His poor widows, broken-hearted, 

Should be settled ? They were seven, 

Sweet as cherubs up in heaven ; 

Three were handsome, young, and pleasant 

And had offers on at present — 

Must they take them ? . . These and other 

Questions proffer'd by each brother, 

The great Prophet ever gracious, 

Free and easy, and sagacious, 

Answer' d. after meditation 

With sublime deliberation ; 

And his answers were so clever 

Each one whisper'd, " Well I never!" 

And the lesser lights all holy, 

Round the Prophet turning slowly, 

Raised their reverend heads and hoary, 

Thinking, " To the Prophet, glory ! 



CONSTERNATION IN THE SESSION in 

Hallelujah, veneration, 
Reckon that he licks creation ! " 

Suddenly as they sat gleaming, 

On them came an unbeseeming 

Murmur, tumult, and commotion, 

Like the breaking of the ocean ; 

And before a word was utter'd, 

In rush'd one with voice that fluttered, 

Arms uplifted, face the colour 

Of a bran-new Yankee dollar, 

Like a man whose wits are addled, 

Crying — "Brother Abes skedaddled! " 

Then those Elders fearful-hearted 

Raised a loud cry and upstarted, 

But the Prophet, never rising, 

Said, "Be calm ! this row's surprising I" 

And as each Saint sank unsinew'd 

In his arm-chair he continued ; 



ii2 FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT. 

" Goodman Jones, your cheeks are yellow, 
Tell thy tale, and do not bellow ! 
"What's the reason of your crying — 
Is our brother dead ? — or dying ? " 

As the Prophet spake, supremely 
Hushing all the strife unseemly, 
Sudden in the room there entered 
Shapes on whom all eyes were centred — 
Six sad female figures moaning, 
Trembling, weeping, and intoning, 
" We are widows broken-hearted — 
Abraham Clewson has departed ! " 

While the Saints again upleaping 
Joined their voices to the weeping, 
For a moment the great Prophet 
Trembled, and look'd dark as Tophet. 
But the cloud pass'd over lightly. 
" Cease ! " he cried, but sniffled slightly, 



SISTER TABITHA EXPLAINETH. 113 

" Cease this murmur and be quiet — 
Dead men won't awake with riot. 
'Tis indeed a loss stupendous — 
When will Heaven his equal send us ? 
Speak, then, of our brother cherish'd, 
Was it Jits by which he perish' d ? 
Or did Death come even quicker, 
Thro* a bolting horse or kicker V 



At the Prophet's question scowling, 
All the Wives stood moaning, howling, 
Crying wildly in a fever, 
" O the villain ! the deceiver ' " 
But the oldest stepping boldly, 
Curtseying to the Session coldly, 
Cried in voice like cracking thunder, 
" Prophet, don't you make a blunder ! 
Abraham Clewson isn't dying — 
Hasn't died, as you're implying. 
I 



i 4 FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT. 

No ! he's not the man, my brothers, 
To die decently like others ! 
Worse ! he's from your cause revolte d — 
Run away ! ske-daddled ! bolted ! " 



Bolted ! run away ! skedaddled ! 
Like to men whose wits are addled, 
Echoed all those Lights so holy, 
Round the Prophet shining slowly ; 
And the Prophet, undissembling, 
Underneath the blow sat trembling, 
While the perspiration hovered 
On his forehead, and he covered 
With one trembling hand his features 
From the gaze of smaller creatures. 
Then at last the high and gifted 
Cough'd and craved, with hands uplifted, 
Silence. When 'twas given duly, 
" This," said he, u *s a crusher truly ! 



STRANGE TRANCE OF THE PROPHET. 1 1 5 

Brother Clewson fall'n from glory ! 
I can scarce believe your story. 
O my Saints, each in his station, 
Join in prayer and meditation V* 

Covering up each eyelid saintly 

With a finger tip, prayed faintly, 

Shining in the church's centre, 

Their great Prophet, Lamp, and Mentor; 

And the lesser Lights all holy, 

Round the Lamp revolving slowly, 

Each upon his seat there sitting, 

With a gravity befitting, 

Bowed their reverend heads and hoary, 

Saying, " To the Prophet glory ! 

Hallelujah, veneration! 

Reckon that he licks creation !" 

Lastly, when the trance was ended, 
And, with face where sorrow blended 



u6 FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT, 

Into pity and compassion, 
Shone the Light in common fashion ; 
Forth the Brother stept who brought them 
First the news which had distraught them, 
And, while stood the Widows weeping, 
Gave into the Prophet's keeping 
A seal'd paper, which the latter 
Read, as if 'twere solemn matter — 
Gravely pursing lips and nodding, 
While they watch'd in dark foreboding, 
Till at last, with voice that quivered, 
He these woeful words delivered : — 



" Sisters, calm your hearts unruly, 

'Tis an awful business truly ; 

Weeping now will save him never, 

He's as good as lost for ever ; 

Yes, I say with grief unspoken, 

Jest a pane crack' d, smash'd, and broken 



ST. ABE'S LETTER. 1 17 

In the windows of the Temple — 
Crack'd 's the word— so take example ! 
Had he left ye one and all here 
On our holy help to call here, 
Fled alone from every fetter, 
I could comprehend it better ! 
Flying, not with some strange lady, 
But with her he had already, 
With his own eeal'd Wife eloping— 
It's a case of craze past hoping ! 
List, O Saints, each in his station, 
To the idiot's explanation ! " 

Then, while now and then the holy 
Broke the tale of melancholy 
With a grunt contempt expressing, 
And the widows made distressing 
Murmurs of recrimination 
Here and there in the narration, 
The great Prophet in affliction 
Read this awful Valediction ! 



VI. 

LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE TO THE 

POLYGAMISTS. 

Brother, Prophet of the Light ! — don't let my 

state distress you, 
While from the depths of darkest night I cry, 
" Farewell ! God bless you ! " 

1 don't deserve a parting tear, nor even a male- 

diction, 
Too weak to fill a saintly sphere, I yield to my 

affliction ; 
Down like a cataract I shoot into the depths 

below you, 
While you stand wondering and mute, my last 

adieu I throw you ; 



HIS MESSAGE TO HIS WIDOWS. ng 

Commending to your blessed care my well-be- 
loved spouses, 

My debts (there's plenty and to spare to pay 
them), lands, and houses, 

My sheep, my cattle, farm and fold, yea, all by 
which I've thriven : 

These to be at the auction sold, and to my 
widows given. 

Bless them ! to prize them at their worth was 
far beyond my merit, 

Just make them think me in the earth, a poor 
departed spirit. 

I couldn't bear to say good-bye, and see their 
tears up-starting ; 

I thought it best to pack and fly without the 
pain of parting ! 

O tell Amelia, if she can, by careful educa- 
tion, 

To make her boy grow up a man of strength 
and saintly station ! 



izo LAST EPISTLE OF ST ABE. 

Tell Fanny to beware of men, and say I'm still 
her debtor — 

Tho' she cut sharpish now and then, I think it 
made me better ! 

Let Emily still her spirit fill with holy consola- 
tions — 

Seraphic soul, I hear her still a-reading " Reve- 
lations ! " 

Bid Mary now to dry her tears — she's free of her 
chief bother ; 

And comfort Sarah — I've my fears she's going to 
be a mother ; 

And to Tabitha give for me a tender kiss of 
healing — 

Guilt wrings my soul — I seem to see that well- 
known face appealing ! 

And now, — before my figure fades for ever from 

your vision, 
Before I mingle with the shades beyond your 

light Eiysian, 



ST. ABE LAMENTETH HIS DO WNFALL. 1 2 1 

Nozv, while your faces all turn pale, and you 

raise eyes and shiver, 
Let me a round unvarnish'd tale (as Shakspere 

says) deliver ; 
And let there be a warning text in my most 

shameful story, 
When some poor sheep, perplext and vext, goes 

seeking too much glory. 
O Brigham, think of my poor fate, a scandal to 

beholders, 
And don't again put too much weight before 

you've tried the shoulders ! 

Though I'd the intellectual gift, and knew the 

rights and reasons ; 
Though I could trade, and save, and shift, 

according to the seasons ; 
Though I was thought a clever man, and was at 

spouting splendid, — 
Just think how finely I began, and see how all 

has ended ! 



122 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

In principle unto this hour I'm still a holy- 
being — 
But oh, how poorly is my power proportion'd to 

my seeing! 
You've all the logic on your side, you're right in 

each conclusion, 
And yet how vainly have I tried, with eager 

resolution ! 
My will was good, I felt the call, although my 

strength was meagre, 
There wasn't one among you all to serve the 

Lord more eager ! 
I never tired in younger days of drawing lambs 

unto me, 
My lot was one to bless and praise, the fire of 

faith thrill'd through me. 
And you, believing I was strong, smiled on me 

like a father, — 
Said, "Blessed be this man, though young, who 

the sweet lambs doth gather ! " 



ST. ABE DEFINE TH VIRTUE. 123 

At first it was a time full blest, and all my 

earthy pleasure 
Was gathering lambs unto my breast to cherish 

and to treasure ; 
Ay, one by one, for heaven's sake, my female 

flock I found me, 
Until one day I did awake and heard them 

bleating round me, 
And there was sorrow in their eyes, and mute 

reproach and wonder, 
For they perceived to their surprise their Shep- 
herd was a blunder. 
O Brigham, think of it and weep, my firm and 

saintly Master — 
The Pastor trembled at his Sheep, the Sheep despised 

the Pastor ! 

O listen to the tale of dread, thou Light that 
shines so brightly — 

Virtue's a horse that drops down dead if over- 
loaded slightly ! 



i2 + LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

She's all the will, she wants to go, she'd carry 

every tittle ; 
But Avhen you see her flag and blow, just ease 

her of a little ! 
One wife for me was near enough, two might 

have fixed me neatly, 
Three made me shake, four made me puff, five 

settled me completely, — 
But when the sixth came, though I still was 

glad and never grumbled, 
I took the staggers, kick'd, went ill, and in the 

traces tumbled! 

Ah, well may I compare my state unto a beast's 

position — 
Unfit to bear *i saintly weight, I sank and lost 

condition ; 
I lack'd the moral nerve and thew, to fill so fine 

a station — 
Ah, if I'd had a head like you, and your deter- 

mination ! 



WARNETH AGAINST SENTIMENT. 125 

Instead of going in and out, like a superior 

party, 
I was too soft of heart, no doubt, too open, and 

too hearty. 
When I began with each young sheep I was too 

free and loving, 
Not being strong and wise and deep, I set her 

feelings moving ; 
And so, instead of noticing the gentle flock in 

common, 
I waken'd up that mighty thing — the Spirit of a 

Woman. 
Each got to think me, don't you see, — so foolish 

was the feeling, — 
Her own especial property, which all the rest 

were stealing ! 
And, since I could not give to each the whole of 

my attention, 
All came to grief, and parts of speech too deli- 
cate to mention ! 



126 LAST EPISTLE OF ST ABE. 

Bless them ! they loved me far too much, they 

erred in their devotion, 
I lack'd the proper saintly touch, subduing mere 

emotion : — 
The solemn air sent from the skies, so cold, so 

tranquillising, 
That on the female waters lies, and keeps the 

same from rising, 
But holds them down all smooth and bright, 

and, if some wild wind storms 'em, 
Comes like a cold frost in the night, and into ice 

transforms 'em ! 

And there, between ourselves, I see the diffi- 
culty growing, 

Since most men are as meek as me, too pas- 
sionate and glowing ; 

They cannot in your royal way dwell like a 
guest from Heaven 

Within this tenement of clay, which for the Soul 
Is ffiven ; 



THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT. 127 

They cannot like a blessed guest come calm and 

strong into it, 
Eating and drinking of its best, and calmly 

gazing thro* it. 
No, every mortal's not a Saint, and truly very 

few are, 
So weak they are, they cannot paint what holy 

men like you are. 
Instead of keeping well apart the Flesh and 

Spirit, brother, 
And making one with cunning art the nigger of 

the other, 
They muddle and confuse the two, they mix and 

twist and mingle, 
So that it takes a cunning view to make out 

either single. 
The Soul gets mingled with the Flesh beyond all 

separation, 
The Body holds it in a mesh of animal sensa- 
tion ; 



128 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

The poor bewilder'd Being, grown a thing in 

nature double, { 

Half light and soul, half flesh and bone, is given 

up to trouble. 
He thinks the instinct of the clay, the glowings 

of the Spirit, 
And when the Spirit has her say, inclines the 

Flesh to hear it. 
The slave of every passing whim, the dupe of 

every devil, 
Inspired by every female limb to love, and light, 

and revel, 
Impulsive, timid, weak, or strong, as Flesh or 

Spirit makes him, 
The lost one wildly moans along till mischief 

overtakes him ; 
And when the Soul has fed upon the Flesh till 

life's spring passes, 
Finds strength and health and comfort gone — 

the way of last year's grasses, 



SUBDUING OF THE FLESH. 129 

And the poor Soul is doom'd to bow, in deep 

humiliation, 
Within a place that isn't now a decent habitation. 

No ! keep the Soul and Flesh apart in pious 

resolution, 
Don't let weak flutterings of the heart lead you 

to my confusion ! 
But let the Flesh be as "the horse, the Spirit as 

the rider, 
And use the snaffle first of course, and ease her 

up and guide her ; 
And if she's going to resist, and won't let none 

go past her, - 
Just take the curb and give a twist, and show 

her you're the Master. 
The Flesh is but a temporal thing, and Satan's 

strength is in it, 
Use it, but conquer it, and bring its vice down 

every minute ! 

K 



130 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

Into a woman's arms don't fall, as if you meant 

to stay there, 
Just come as if yi ltd male a call, a?zd idly found 

your way there ; 
Don't praise her too much to her face, but keep 

her calm and quiet, — 
Most female illnesses take place thro' far too 

warm a diet ; 
Unto her give your fleshly kiss, calm, kind, and 

patronising, 
Then — soar to your own sphere of bliss, before 

her heart gets rising ! 
Don't fail to let her see full clear, how in your 

saintly station 
The Flesh is but your nigger here obeying your 

dictation ; 
And tho' the Flesh be e'er so warm, your Soul 

the weakness smothers 
Of loving any female form much better than the 

others ! 



DIVIDETH MEN INTO TWO CLASSES. 131 

O Brigham, I can see you smile to hear the 

Devil preaching ; — 
Well, I can praise your perfect style, tho' far 

beyond my reaching. 
Forgive me, if in shame and grief I vex you with 

digression, 
And let me come again in brief to my own dark 

confession. 

The world of men divided is into two portions, 
brother, 

The first are Saints, so high in bliss that they the 
Flesh can smother; 

God meant them from fair flower to flower to 
flutter, smiles bestowing, 

Tasting the sweet, leaving the sour, just hover- 
ing, — and going. 

The second are a different set, just halves of 
perfect spirits, 

Going about in bitter fret, of uncompleted 
merits, 



i 3 2 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

Till they discover, here or there, their other half 

(or woman), 
Then these two join, and make a Pair, and so 

increase the human. 
The second Souls inferior are, a lower spirit- 
order, 
Born 'neath a less auspicious star, and taken by 

soft sawder; — 
And if they do not happen here to find their fair 

Affinity, 
They come to grief and doubt and fear, and end 

in assininity ; 
And if they try the blessed game of those 

superior to them, 
They're very quickly brought to shame, — their 

passions so undo them. 
In some diviner sphere, perhaps, they'll look and 

grow more holy, — 
Meantime they're vessels Sorrow taps and grim 

Remorse sucks slowly. 



HO W ST. ABE BL UNDERED IN SEALING. 1 35 

Now, Brigham, I was made, you see, one of 

those lower creatures, 
Polygamy was not for me, altho' I joined its 

preachers. 
Instead of, with a wary eye, seeking the one 

who waited, 
And sticking to her, wet or dry, because the 

thing was fated, 
I snatch'd the first whose beauty stirred my soul 

with tender feeling ! 
And then another ! then a third ! and so con- 
tinued Sealing ! 
And duly, after many a smart, discovered, 

sighing faintly, 
I hadn't found my missing part, and wasn't 

strong and saintly ! 
O they were far too good for me, altho' their 

zeal betrayed them ; — 
Unfortunately, don't you see, heaven for some 

other made them : 



i 3 4 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

Each would a downright blessing be, and Peace 

would pitch the tent for her, 
If " she " could only find the " he " originally 

meant for her ! 

Well, Brother, after many years of bad domestic 

diet, 
One morning I woke up in tears, still weary and 

unquiet, 
And (speaking figuratively) lo ! beside my bed 

stood smiling 
The Woman, young and virgin snow, but beckon- 
ing and beguiling. 
I started up, my wild eyes rolled, I knew her, 

and stood sighing, 
My thoughts throng' d up like bees of gold out of 

the smithy flying. 
And as she stood in brightness there, familiar, 

tho' a stranger, 
I looked at her in dumb despair, and trembled 

at the danger. 



THE RAPTURES OF THE UNSAINTLY. 135 

But, Brother Brigham, don't you think the 

Devil could so undo me, 
That straight I rushed the cup to drink too late 

extended to me. 
No, for I hesitated long, ev'n when I found she 

loved me, 
And didn't seem to think it wrong when love 

and passion moved me. 
O Brigham, you're a Saint above, and know not 

the sensation 
The ecstasy, the maddening love, the rapturous 

exultation, 
That fills a man of lower race with wonder past 

all speaking, 
When first he finds in one sweet face the Soul he 

has been seeking ! 
When two immortal beings glow in the first 

fond revealing, 
And their inferior natures know the luxury of 

feeling ! 



136 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

But ah, I had already got a quiver-full of bless- 
ing, 

Had blundered, tho' I knew it not, six times 
beyond redressing, 

And surely it was time to stop, tho' still my lot 
was lonely : 

My house was like a cobbler's shop, full, tho* 
w T ith " misfits " only. 

And so I should have stopt, I swear, the 

wretchedest of creatures, 
Rather than put one mark of care on her 

beloved features : 
But that it happen'd Sister Anne (ah, now the 

secret's flitted !) 
Was left in this great world of man unto my 

care committed. 
Her father, Jason Jones, was dead, a man whose 

faults were many, 
" O, be a father, Abe," he said, " to my poor 

daughter, Annie ! " 



DESCRIBETH HIS O WN JEAL OUSY. 137 

And so I promised, so she came an Orphan to 

this city, 
And set my foolish heart in flame with mingled 

love and pity ; 
And as she prettier grew each day, and throve 

'neath my protection, 
/ saw the Saints did cast her way some tokens of 

affection. 
O, Brigham, pray forgive me now ; — envy and 

love combining, 
I hated every saintly brow, benignantly in- 
clining ! 
Sneered at their motives, mocked the cause, 

went wild and sorrow-laden, 
And saw Polygamy's vast jaws a-yawning for 

the maiden. 
Why not y you say \ Ah, yes, why not, from 

your high point of vision ; 
But I'm of an inferior lot, beyond the light 

Elysian. 



138 LAST EPISTLE OF ST ABE. 

I tore my hair, whined like a whelp, I loved her 

to distraction, 
I saw the danger, knew the help, yet trembled 

at the action. 
At last I came to you, my friend, and told my 

tender feeling ; 
You said, " Your grief shall have an end — this is 

a case for Sealing ; 
And since you have deserved so well, and made 

no heinous blunder, 
Why, brother Abraham, take the gel, but mind 

you keep her under." 
Well ! then I went to Sister Anne, my inmost 

heart unclothing, 
Told her my feelings like a man, concealing 

next to nothing, 
Explain'd the various characters of those I had 

already, 
The various tricks and freaks and stirs peculiar 

to each lady, 



SISTEE ANNE LAST OF THE SEVEN. 139 

And, finally, when all was clear, and hope 

seem'd to forsake me, 
" There ! it's a wretched chance, my dear — you 

leave me, or you take me." 
Well, Sister Annie look'd at me, her inmost 

heart revealing 
(Women are very weak, you see, inferior, full of 

feeling), 
Then, thro' her tears outshining bright, "I'll 

never never leave you ! 
" O Abe," she said, " my love, my light, why 

should I pain or grieve you ? 
I do not love the way of life you have so sadly 

chosen, 
I'd rather be a single wife than one in half a 

dozen ; 
But now you cannot change your plan, tho' 

health and spirit perish, 
And I shall never see a man but you to love and 

cherish. 



1 4 o LAST EPISTLE OF ST ABE. 

Take me, I'm yours, and 0, my dear, don't 

think I miss your merit, 
I'll try to help a little here your true and loving 

spirit." 
" Reflect, my love," I said, " once more," with 

bursting heart, half crying, 
" Two of the girls cut very sore, and most of 

them are trying ! " 
And then that gentle-hearted maid kissed me 

and bent above me, 
" O Abe," she said, " don't be afraid,— I'll try to 

make them love me !" 

Ah well ! I scarcely stopt to ask myself, till all 

was over, 
How precious tough would be her task who 

made those dear souls love her ! 
But I was seal'd to Sister Anne, and straight- 

way to my wonder 
A series of events began which show'd me all 

my blunder. 



HOW THE SIX DECLARED BATTLE. 141 

Brother, don't blame the souls who erred thro' 
their excess of feeling— 

So angrily their hearts were stirred by my last 
act of sealing ; 

But in a moment they forgot the quarrels they'd 
been wrapt in, 

And leagued together in one lot, with Tabby for 
the Captain. 

Their little tiffs were laid aside, and all com- 
bined tog-ether, 

Preparing for the gentle Bride the blackest sort 
of weather. 

It wasn't feeling made them flout poor Annie in 
that fashion, 

It wasn't love turn'd inside out, it wasn't jealous 
passion, 

It wasn't that they cared for me y or any other 
party, 

Their hearts and sentiments were free, their ap- 
petites were hearty. 



142 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

But when the pretty smiling face came blossom- 
ing and blooming, 
Like sunshine in a shady place the fam'ly Vault 

illuming, 
It naturally made them grim to see its sunny 

colour, 
While like a row of tapers dim by daylight, they 

grew duller. 
She tried her best to make them kind, she 

coaxed and served them dumbly, 
She watch' d them with a willing mind, deferred 

to them most humbly ; 
Tried hard to pick herself a friend, but found her 

arts rejected, 
And fail'd entirely in her end, as one might 

have expected. 
But, Brother, tho' I'm loathe to add one word to 

criminate them, 
I think their conduct was too bad, — it almost 

made me hate them. 



BOW SISTER ANNE GREW SAD. 143 

Ah me, the many nagging ways of women are 

amazing, 
Their cleverness solicits praise, their cruelty is 

crazing ! 
And Sister Annie hadn't been a single day their 

neighbour, 
Before a baby could have seen her life would be 

a labour. 
But bless her little loving heart, it kept its 

sorrow hidden, 
And if the tears began to start, suppressed the 

same unbidden. 
She tried to smile, and smiled her best, till I 

thought sorrow silly, 
And kept in her own garden nest, and lit it like 

a lily. 
O I should waste your time for days with talk 

like this at present, 
If I described her thousand ways of making 

things look pleasant ! 



144 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

But, bless you, 'twere as well to try, when 
thunder's at its dire work, 

To clear the air, and light the sky, by penny- 
worths of firework. 

These gentle ways to hide her woe and make 
my life a blessing, 

Just made the after darkness grow more gloomy 
and depressing. 

Taunts, mocks, and jeers, coldness and sneers, 
insult and trouble daily, 

A thousand stabs that brought the tears, all 
these she cover' d gaily ; 

But when her fond eyes fell on me, the light of 
love to borrow, 

And Sister Anne began to see I knew her secret 
sorrow, 

All of a sudden like a mask the loving cheat 
forsook her, 

And reckon I had all my task, for illness over- 
took her. 



HOW SISTER ANNE FELL SICK. 145 

She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seem'd like 

a spirit flying, 
Smiled thro' her tears when I went in, but when 

I left fell crying ; 
And as she languish'd in her bed, as weak and 

wan as water, 
I thought of what her father said, " Take care of 

my dear daughter ! " 
Then I look'd round with secret eye upon her 

many Sisters, 
And close at hand I saw them lie, ready for use 

— like blisters ; 
They seemed with secret looks of glee, to keep 

their wifely station ; 
They set their lips and sneer'd at me, and 

watch'd the situation. 

Brother, I can scarce express the agony of 

those moments, 

1 fear your perfect saintliness, and dread your 

cutting comments ! 



146 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I anguish'd 

night and morrow, 
I watch'd and waited, sleepless-eyed, beside 

that bed of sorrow. 

At last I knew, in those dark days of sorrow 

and disaster, 
Mine wasn't soil where you could raise a Saint 

up, or a Pastor ; 
In spite of careful watering, and tilling night 

and morning, 
The weeds of vanity would spring without a 

word of warning. 
I was and ever must subsist, labell'd on every 

feature, 
A wretched poor Monogamist^ a most inferior 

creature- 
Just half a soul, and half a mind, a blunder and 

abortion, 
Not finish'd half till I could find the other 

missing portion ! 



ST. ABE REGISTERETH A VOW. 147 

And gazing on that missing part which I at last 

had found out, 
I murmur' d with a burning heart, scarce strong 

to get the sound out, 
" If from the greedy clutch of Fate I save this 

chief of treasures, 
I will no longer hesitate, but take decided mea- 
sures ! 
A poor monogamist like me can not love half a 

dozen, 
Better by far, then, set them free ! and take the 

Wife I've chosen ! 
Their love for me, of course, is small, a very 

shadowy tittle, 
They will not miss my face at all, or miss it very 

little. 
I can't undo what I have done, by my forlorn 

embraces, 
And call the brightness of the sun again into 

their faces ; 



i 4 8 LAST EPISTLE OF ST ABE. 

But I can save one spirit true, confiding and 

unthinking, 
From slowly curdling to a shrew or into swine- 

dom sinking/' 
These were my bitter words of woe, my fears 

Avere so distressing, 
Not that I would reflect — O no ! — on any living 

blessing. 

Thus, Brother, I resolved, and when she rose, 
still frail and sighing, 

I kept my word like better men, and bolted, — 
and I'm flying. 

Into oblivion I haste, and leave the world be- 
hind me, 

Afar unto the starless waste, where not a soul 
shall find me. 

I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cordially, 
agreeing 

I never was the sort of man for your high state 
of being ; 



ST ABE BIDDETH FAREWELL TO EDEN. 149 

Such as I am, she takes me, though ; and after 

years of trying, 
From Eden hand in hand we go, like our first 

parents flying ; 
And like the bright sword that did chase the 

first of sons and mothers, 
Shines dear Tabitha's flaming face, surrounded 

by the others : 
Shining it threatens there on high, above the 

gates of heaven, 
And faster at the sight we fly, in naked shame, 

forth-driven. 
Nothing of all my worldly store I take, 'twould 

be improper, 
I go a pilgrim, strong and poor, without a single 

copper. 
Unto my Widows I outreach my property com- 
pletely. 
There's modest competence for each, if it is 

managed neatly. 



150 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 

That, Brother, is a labour left to your sagacious 

keeping ; — 
Comfort them, comfort the bereft ! I'm good as 

dead and sleeping ! 
A fallen star, a shooting light, a portent and an 

omen, 
A moment passing on the sight, thereafter seen 

by no men ! 
I go, with backward looking face, and spirit 

rent asunder. 

may you prosper in your place, for you're a 

shining wonder! 
So strong, so sweet, so mild, so good ! — by 

Heaven's dispensation, 
Made Husband to a multitude and Father to a 

nation ! 
May all the saintly life ensures increase and 

make you stronger! 

1 lumbly and penitently yours, 

A. Clewson [Saint no longer). 



THE FARM IN THE VALLEY— SUNSET. 
(1S71.) 



THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 



Still the saintly City stands, 
Wondrous work of busy hands ; 
Still the lonely City thrives, 
Rich in worldly goods and wives, 
And with thrust-out jaw and set 
Teeth, the Yankee threatens yet- 
Half admiring and half riled, 
Oft by bigger schemes beguiled, 
Turning off his curious stare 
To communities elsewhere, 
Always with unquiet eye 
Watching Utah on the sly. 



154 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

Long the City of the Plain 
Left its image on my brain : 
White kiosks and gardens bright 
Rising in a golden light ; 
Busy figures everywhere 
Bustling' bee-like in the glare ; 
And from dovecots in green places, 
Peep'd out weary women's faces, 
Flushing faint to a thin cry 
From the nursery hard by. 
And the City in my thought 
Slept fantastically wrought, 
Till the whole began to seem 
Like a curious Eastern dream, 
Like the pictures strange we scan 
In the tales Arabian : 
Tales of magic art and sleight, 
Cities rising in a night, 
And of women richly clad, 
Dark-eyed, melancholy, sad, 



AFTER FIVE YEARS. 155 

Ever with a glance uncertain, 
Trembling at the purple curtain, 
Lest behind the black slave stand 
With the bowstring in his hand ;— 
Happy tales, within whose heart 
Founts of weeping eyes upstart, 
Told, to save her pretty head, 
By Scheherazad in bed I 



All had faded and grown faint, 
Save the figure of the Saint 
Who that memorable night 
Left the Children of the Light, 
Flying o'er the lonely plain 
From his lofty sphere of pain. 
Oft his gentle face would flit 
O'er my mind and puzzle it, 
Ever waking up meanwhile 
Something of a merry smile, 



156 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

Whose quick light illumined me 
During many a reverie, 
When I puffed my weed alone. 

Faint and strange the face had grown, 

Tho' for five long years or so 

I had watched it come and go, 

When, on busy thoughts intent, 

I into New England went, 

And one evening, riding slow 

By a River that I know, 

(Gentle stream ! I hide thy name, 

Far too modest thou for fame !) 

I beheld the landscape swim 

In the autumn hazes dim, 

And from out the neighbouring dales 

Heard the thumping of the flails. 

All was hush'd ; afar away 
(As a novelist would say) 



SUNSET IN NEW ENGLAND. 157 

Sank the mighty orb of day, 
Staring with a hazy glow 
On the purple plain below, 
Where (like burning embers shed 
From the sunset's glowing bed, 
Dying out or burning bright, 
Every leaf a blaze of light) 
Ran the maple swamps ablaze ; 
Everywhere amid the haze, 
Floating strangely in the air, 
Farms and homesteads gather' d fair ; 
And the River rippled slow 
Thro' the marshes green and low, 
Spreading oft as smooth as glass 
As it fringed the meadow grass, 
Making 'mong the misty fields 
Pools like golden gleaming shields. 

Thus I walked my steed along, 
Humming a low scrap of song, 



158 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

Watching with an idle eye 
White clouds in the dreamy sky 
Sailing with me in slow pomp. 
In the bright flush of the swamp, 
While his dogs bark'd in the wood, 
Gun in hand the sportsman stood ; 
And beside me, wading deep, 
Stood the angler half asleep, 
Figure black against the gleam 
Of the bright pools of the stream ; 
Now and then a wherry brown 
With the current drifted down 
Sunset-ward, and as it went 
Made an oar-splash indolent; 
While with solitary sound, 
Deepening the silence round, 
In a voice of mystery 
Faintly cried the chickadee. 



THE HOMESTEADS. 159 

Suddenly the River's arm 
Rounded, and a lonely Farm 
Stood before me blazing red 
To the bright blaze overhead ; 
In the homesteads at its side, 
Cattle lowed and voices cried, 
And from out the shadows dark 
Came a mastiff's measured bark. 
Fair and fat stood the abode 
On the path by which I rode, 
And a mighty orchard, strown 
Still with apple-leaves wind-blown, 
Raised its branches gnarl'd and bare 
Black against the sunset air, 
And with greensward deep and dim, 
Wander' d to the River's brim. 



Close beside the orchard walk 
Linger'd one in quiet talk 



160 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

With a man in workman's gear. 

As my horse's feet drew near, 

The labourer nodded rough "good-day, 

Turned his back and loung'd away. 

Then the first, a plump and fat 

Yeoman in a broad straw hat, 

Stood alone in thought intent, 

Watching while the other went, 

And amid the sunlight red 

Paused, with hand held to his head. 



In a moment, like a word 
Long forgotten until heard, 
Like a buried sentiment 
Born again to some stray scent, 
Like a sound to which the brain 
Gives familiar refrain, 
Something in the gesture brought 
Things forgotten to my thought ; 



THE STRANGER PASSETH. 161 

Memory, as I watched the sight, 
Flashed from eager light to light. 
Remember* d and remember'd not, 
Half familiar, half forgot, 
Stood the figure, till at last, 
Bending eyes on his, I passed, 
Gazed again, as loth to go, 
Drew the rein, stopt short, and so 
Rested, looking back ; when he, 
The object of my scrutiny, 
Smiled and nodded, saying, " Yes ! 
Stare your fill, young man ! I guess 
You'll know me if we meet again !" 

In a moment all my brain 
Was illumined at the tone, 
All was vivid that had grown 
Faint and dim, and straight I knew him, 
Holding out my hand unto him, 
Smiled, and called him by his name. 
M 



1 62 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

Wondering - , hearing me exclaim, 
Abraham Clewson (for 'twas he) 
Came more close and gazed at me. 
As he gazed, a merry grin 
Brighten'd down from eyes to chin : 
In a moment he, too, knew me, 
Reaching out his hand unto me, 
Crying " Track'd, by all that's blue ! 
Who'd have thought of seeing you?" 

Then, in double quicker time 
Than it takes to make the rhyme, 
Abe, with face of welcome bright, 
Made me from my steed alight ; 
Call'd a boy, and bade him lead 
The beast away to bed and feed ; 
And, with hand upon my arm, 
Led me off into the Farm, 
Where, amid a dwelling-place 
Fresh and bright as her own face, 



ST. ABE AND SISTER ANNE. 163 

With a gleam of shining ware 
For a background everywhere, 
Free as any summer breeze, 
With a bunch of Iras wife's keys 
At her girdle, sweet and mild 
Sister Annie blush'd and smiled, — 
While two tiny laughing girls, 
Peeping at me through their curls, 
Hid their sweet shamefacedness 
In the skirts of Annie's dress. 



That same night the Saint and I 
Sat and talked of times gone by, 
Smoked our pipes and drank our grog 
By the slowly smouldering log, 
While the clock's hand slowly crept 
To midnight, and the household slept. 



i6 4 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

" Happy r" Abe said with a smile, 

" Yes, in my inferior style, 

Meek and humble, not like them 

In the New Jerusalem." 

Here his hand, as if astray, 

For a moment found its way 

To his forehead, as he said, 

" Reckon they believe I'm dead ! 

Ah, that life of sanctity 

Never was the life for me. 

Couldn't stand it wet nor dry, 

Hated to see women cry ; 

Couldn't bear to be the cause 

Of tiffs and squalls and endless jaws 

Always felt amid the stir 

Jest a whited sepulchre ; 

And I did the best I could 

When I ran away for good. 

Yet, for many a night, you know 

(Annie, too, would tell you so), 



ST ABE SURVEYETH THE PAST. 165 

Couldn't sleep a single wink, 
Couldn't eat, and couldn't drink, 
Being kind of conscience-cleft 
For those poor creatures I had left. 
Not till I got news from there, 
And I found their fate was fair, 
Could I set to work, or find 
Any comfort in my mind. 
Well (here Abe smiled quietly), 
Guess they didn't groan for me ! 
Fanny and Amelia got 
Sealed to Brigham on the spot ; 
Emmy soon consoled herself 
In the arms of Brother Delf ; 
And poor Mary one fine day 
Packed her traps and tript away 
Down to Fresco with Fred Bates, 
A young player from the States ; 
While Sarah, 'twas the wisest plan, 
Pick'd herself a single man — 



1 66 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

A young joiner fresh come down 
Out of Texas to the town — 
And he took her with her baby, 
And they're doing well as maybe." 

Here the Saint with quiet smile, 
Sipping at his grog the while, 
Paused as if his tale was o'er, 
Held his tongue and said no more. 
" Good," I said, " but have you done ? 
You have spoke of all save one — 
All your Widows, so bereft, 
Are most comfortably left, 
But of one alone you said 
Nothing. Is the lady dead ? " 

Then the good man's features broke 

Into brightness as I spoke, 

And with loud guffaw cried he, 

" What, Tabitha ? Dead ! Not she ! 



LAST GLIMPSE OF SISTER TABITHA. 167 

All alone and doing splendid — 

Jest you guess, now, how she's ended ! 

Give it up ? This very week 

I heard she's at Oneida Creek, 

All alone and doing hearty, 

Down with Brother Noyes's party. 

Tried the Shakers first, they say, 

Tired of them and went away, 

Testing with a deal of bother 

This community and t'other, 

Till she to Oneida flitted, 

And with trouble got admitted. 

Bless you, she's a shining lamp, 

Tho' I used her like a scamp, 

And she's great in exposition 

Of the Free Love folk's condition, 

Vowing, tho' she found it late, 

'Tis the only happy state. . . . 

" As for me," added the speaker, 

" I'm lower in the scale, and weaker ; 



1 68 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 

Polygamy's beyond my merits, 
Shakerism wears the spirits, 
And as for Free Love, why you see 
(Here the Saint wink'd wickedly) 
"With my whim it might have hung 
Once, when I was spry and young ; 
But poor Annie's love alone 
Keeps my mind in proper tone, 
And tho' my spirit mayn't be strong, 
I'm lively — as the day is long." 



As he spoke with half a yawn, 
Haifa smile, I saw the dawn 
Creeping faint into the gloom 
Of the quickly-chilling room. 
On the hearth the wood-log lay, 
With one last expiring ray ; 
Draining off his glass of grog, 
Clewson rose and kick'd the log ; 



TO BED! 169 

As it crumbled into ashes, 
Watched the last expiring flashes, 
Gave another yawn and said, 
"Well 1 I guess it's time for bed !" 



THE END. 



LANGE & niLLMAN, Printers & Stereotypers, 
108, 110, 112 & 114 WooPter Street. New York. 



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